


Scarecrow's Post

by lori (zakhad)



Series: Captain and Counselor [26]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-22
Updated: 2009-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-05 00:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riker is still working on his issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scarecrow's Post

_You're too low to see me smiling  
When I'm flying in the air  
But you're too high to frighten me  
Pretend you didn't see me  
Pretend you didn't need me_

To frighten away all the lost and the lonely  
The sacred forgotten of yesterday's problems  
Your wooden construction was meant for infliction  
To penetrate pain with the thoughts from my mind

Can you see me, scarecrow  
Can you still feel free  
For all your love, scarecrow  
And will you still be there tomorrow

Like moths around a light bulb, your brain is still bleeding  
From visions and pictures of nature's young raincoat  
If only my eyes were not pinned to your table  
My arms would be grasping the lilies of summer  
It's no good to be a scarecrow post  
And I've said it before, and I'll say it some more

__

~~ Elton John

~^~^~^~^~^~

My life has taken a lot of unexpected turns over the years. One of those turns found me on a ship bound for rendezvous with the *Enterprise,* to see Jean-Luc Picard, my former commanding officer -- and his wife. Who also happened to have been the counselor, before she became his first officer.

Who also had been, weirdly enough, at one point in the distant past, my lover.

Weirder, I was going to see them in the attempt to save my relationship with Christabel, my Bell, ma belle, the woman who would be my wife, if things were different.

And weirder still -- I was riding along on a ship under the competent command of one Tom Glendenning, paramour of my good friend Beverly. Doctor Beverly Crusher, former CMO of the *Enterprise,* the redhead who had once upon a time sent surreptitious, probably unconscious, yearning glances at none other than Jean-Luc Picard.

My quest to the *Enterprise* was Beverly's fault, really. She stopped in to see me the day Bell had issued her ultimatum and found me on leave, holed up in my quarters. She expected a smile and an acceptance of an invite to see her ship -- the *Venture* had just been commissioned a few months before. I hadn't been able to go for the ceremony, and they stopped in at the starbase where my ship was docked for a much-delayed refit. The latest Sovereign-class -- it rankled. If I'd been quicker to accept my own command, I would've probably stood a chance at having something like it right then. Not that *Lexington* was that terrible -- it just wasn't the same, being in an Intrepid-class. After spending years on a Galaxy-class and all its varied departments and plenty of space to house them, it felt claustrophobic.

I was in the dark when she got there, literally and figuratively. At least I had the presence of mind to bring up the lights when I let her in. She took a good look at me and sobered up quick. "Will, are you all right?"

I looked up from my prone position on the couch and smirked. "Just fine, thanks."

At my sarcastic tone, suspicion lit her eyes. "Will, where's Bell?"

"Gone. Moved out."

Beverly had her iced-over stare down pat. Her shock quite evident, she looked around slowly, as if hunting for traces of my former lover.

"As in back to her assigned quarters, or transferred?"

"Her request is on my desk. Been there for most of the day. I can't bring myself to do it. Guess that's the difference between me and good ol' Jean-Luc, I'll bet you he'd have no qualms about signing on the dotted line. Business first, everything else second, that's our Johnny."

"Oh, my. . . . Will. Don't tell me this is about the Picards. Don't tell me she left because of Dee."

"Looks like I don't have to. Was it that obvious? Why am I the last one to know? Like always, just like -- "

"Why do you have to be so on edge about them?" She paced in a circle around the room, exasperated. "Will, it isn't like they got together yesterday! Get over it already!"

"I've been getting over, and just when I think I'm over -- you haven't talked to them lately, have you?"

She looked a little surprised at that. "Why do you say that?"

I sat up, draping my limbs far and wide. It takes a certain length of limb to do a good sprawl. I was good at it. "Got a message from Jean-Luc yesterday morning. He asked me to be the godfather for his first child. Deanna's pregnant."

I hated Beverly's reaction -- dancing blue eyes, and she was practically skipping in place at the news. Then she glared at me. "You're such a bastard. Jealousy, Will? Honestly -- "

"I'm not jealous! Not the way you're thinking, anyway. He can have her. He's welcome to her, he deserves every minute of suffering she inflicts on him. Oh, I accepted the responsibility, wonderful friend that I am, and I felt properly honored by it for a while. Little Yves is assured continuity of care if anything happens to his parents."

"But?"

"But nothing. I shouldn't have accepted."

"Will. . . ."

Her wistful desperation reminded me of Bell. Mistake on her part. "I'm not going to bother being pleasant about it. I'm not in the mood. I shouldn't have tried to accept that relationship in the first place, I didn't feel like it and I'm supposed to be honest about my feelings according to Counselor Troi -- but hey, good ol' Will, he's a sport. He'll just roll right over and forget his own feelings, just so everyone else can be happy."

"I don't get you. What is it about them you can't accept? They're happy, and they're your friends. You performed their wedding!" She fixed her blue eyes on me intently. Stood over me like a mother -- which she is, as I so often forget. She doesn't look like anyone's mother and with Wesley gone more often than not there's nothing to remind you of it.

"Deanna lied to me."

Wary lights in her eyes burned hot. "What?"

"She couldn't tell me the truth up front like the honest person I thought she was -- like the *friend* I thought she was!" I rolled off the couch and did a really impressive stalk, swinging and flinging my arms -- in retrospect I can't believe Beverly didn't just laugh. I must've looked like a damn gorilla. "There was a time, Beverly, that we could tell each other anything. ANYthing. You know she even gave me relationship advice? But I went to her and asked her if we couldn't start over -- I just wanted to start from the beginning again. I didn't even bring up marriage, until I saw she looked at me like she just wanted to escape. I figured she was wary of a repeat of the last time around. I told her I wanted to take her out for dinner, and when she looked like a caged animal I told her I wanted to make a new start and that this time, if she'd give me the chance, I'd follow through."

She watched me gyrate to a halt in front of her and eyed me for a moment. "So she turned you down. How do you know she wouldn't have done that anyway?"

"That's not the point! She lied, as if I couldn't accept the truth about it. She couldn't tell me she was in love with *him.*"

"Maybe *she* couldn't accept the truth. It only took her another *year* to get around to doing something about how she felt. Ever think of that?"

No, but it only made matters worse -- now I felt like somewhat of a heel. "I've never kept anything from her."

"But I'm reasonably certain she wouldn't react this way if you had."

"You're not helping matters, Beverly."

"Sorry." Leaning on the edge of my desk, she looked at the floor. "Have you talked to Dee about this?"

"What, and have her give me a 'mind your own business' look again? Been there already."

"All right. . . ." Beverly frowned, thinking. "What exactly prompted Bell to get mad enough to leave?"

"She asked me why I looked upset about Dee's baby."

"Why are you?" That tone came out in briefings sometimes when she felt contradictory, and I felt a pang of sympathy for Tom. It couldn't be easy dealing with a CMO with a ringing obstinate tone like that, especially one he was sleeping with. It meant she wouldn't give up until she understood why.

"Dee's in over her head. She'll kill herself doing this. You weren't there when Q was putting them through the wringer, Bev. When Jean-Luc went missing it was bad enough. When she tried to cope with the other Picard, it was twice as bad. When Dee turned up pregnant it was worse yet. Then Nechayev put Data in command and bumped Dee to first officer, and it got worse. Bell understood my worry; she was just as worried herself. Dee locked us all out completely. And then he came back, and she miscarried, and the damn fool took a leisurely stroll around the bridge before he bothered to come down to be with his wife -- she wanted the baby and Jean-Luc wasn't there for her when she lost it. Next thing we know, she's first officer for good, and now she's pregnant again."

"Ah, I see -- you're worried Dee's making mistakes she'll regret. Um. . . isn't it a little bit like closing the barn door now that the cows are all gone?"

"Horse."

"Whatever. Will, this is stupid! The most stupid thing I've ever -- "

"Welcome to hell, keep shoveling the coals on! You think I don't know it's stupid? Why do you think I'm so damned upset about it? I can't help how I feel! How do you turn off feelings, Doctor? Got a map to the knob that shuts off that stupid little alarm bell that keeps going off in the back of my brain when I think about Dee and her situation? Can you surgically remove that part of me that keeps worrying about her?"

It hurt like hell to say it. I thought I knew why I couldn't stop the restlessness. But it wasn't something I could talk to Beverly about -- that was between me and Deanna, no one else, and if she wouldn't talk to me about it the subject was best left alone.

She watched me in the half-light of my quarters, my small, Intrepid-sized quarters, and sighed. "You know what? Why don't you just keep venting? Let me be your listening ear. Maybe that'll help you get through this and then you can go find Bell."

"It won't be pleasant." And it wouldn't help, but at that point I was desperate.

She gave me a classic incredulous, sarcastic look. "Like what you've said so far has been nothing but candy and flowers?"

"Why did you transfer, Beverly? Did it have something to do with them?" I didn't have a friendly tone of voice but she didn't react to it. Nice to have friends you can really let go with. I used to have more of them, once upon a time.

"No. But I knew Dee had a thing for him -- for months, in fact. And when you blew up and left the ship, it got worse for her. Those last months she faded fast. She missed having her good friend Will to keep her company."

"Just how many months are we talking?"

"Ask her. I don't know. The point -- "

"The point, dear Beverly, is that she still lied to me and she still did it to my face and the whole time she had the hots for my commanding officer, my *friend,* my *best* friend other than *her.* In one fell swoop I can't talk to either of them! What kind of shitty deal is that?"

She laughed -- I could have killed her with a happy smile on my face. But her head fell forward again as she shook it, and I realized it wasn't amusement, just irony. "We're a club of two, Will -- now you know. I walked around for months getting depressed because I had no one left to vent to. I figured you were feeling the same way, but I thought you had Bell to talk to."

I knew I was pushing it too hard. I'm just a glutton for punishment, no two ways about it. The devil took my tongue, and out spilled, "How many months, Beverly? How long did Dee have a thing for him, and why didn't I see it? And how do we *know* when it started -- how long did he screw around with her before he got around to telling us there was a relationship? All those meetings in the ready room -- "

Beverly hit me.

Didn't even see it coming -- I must be old, I thought, laughing at myself as I went down. A genteel lady doctor dropped me with a single blow. I think I fell partially out of shock. The floor hurt, but at least it didn't hate my guts. Judging from her facial expression, Bev did. I could understand it. I was, after all, being a bastard.

I held my eye and squinted up at her through the other one, and sighed.

"Was that for him, or her?"

"For him -- I have another one for Dee. Don't make me use it. I said talk, not be obscene. I hate hitting you, especially since you have such a damned hard head, but you deserved it. How many lovers have there been for you, and why did you expect her to sit back for years watching them parade through the ship on your arm then expect her to come happily back to sit in your lap -- "

"It wasn't like that! You don't get it, do you? I didn't expect that from her, I just wanted a second chance and she turned me down -- that's fair. But why didn't I warrant a real explanation? I could've kept her damn secret! I was her friend and she treated me like that?"

Beverly pursed her lips and posed, one hand on her hip and the other to her forehead. "Think about it, Will. Then again, why should I expect you to understand? Look. Unrequited love is tough. It makes you crazy. She knew he didn't feel the same for her and she knew that even if he did, she'd have no chance -- look what he did to Nella Darrin."

"And what he did to you?"

I was impressed. She didn't even flinch. "I was different. I chose to put him off. If Dee hadn't been so blinded by her feelings, she might have figured out that he was all primed for it -- that thing with Nella, for example. He did try. He just couldn't see his way through it. Before that, he'd approached me -- though Dee wouldn't necessarily have known about that. She thought it was his idea to keep me at arm's length."

I sat up, my eye smarting a little less, and draped my arms over my knees -- might as well stay there on the floor as get knocked there again. "So you're saying she fell for him so hard she couldn't see straight?"

Beverly put both hands over her face and rubbed her eyes. "Why are you not talking to her?" she asked plaintively. "If you made it plain enough that you really had to talk, that there was a problem. . . ."

"She won't tell me anything. I asked her, she got defensive -- "

"Oh, gee, I wonder why! If you were half as sullen and thick-headed as you're being right now, I could help you figure out why by holding up a mirror. How many times have you seen them in the last two years?"

"Not counting subspace, less than a dozen times."

"So get off your butt and go see them! Sit down and talk to them, get to know them better. Take some leave with them. Get to where you can accept them as they are now."

I climbed to my feet. Facing her again, I realized once more how beautiful she was -- a weird thing to think while she glared at me as if she'd like to surgically remove my face, but she did angry so elegantly. In other things, she became less elegant but no less intriguing. Vague memories remained from that feverish encounter I'd had with her when Odan was temporarily part of me. Some stupid, oafish part of me quietly decided it would be nice to have been more aware, more able to recall what it had been like. Another part of me loudly proclaimed that I was insane. I agreed with the louder voice. Tom Glendenning had a reputation for being lethal.

She was pretty lethal at the moment, herself. "I've never seen you like this before. Dee's had other lovers a lot of times. It isn't possessiveness that's doing this. The only other time you've gotten this bothered, it was when she was with Worf -- shit! You don't mean to tell me you think Jean-Luc -- "

"No, for God's sake, don't even go there. I can't believe you'd suggest it! He probably asks *permission* before he sticks it in."

Beverly stumbled a step, laughing suddenly, holding her stomach. She shocked me again with that. Falling back against the desk, she tossed her hair back and kept laughing, a hand over her mouth. "You know, you're probably right about that. Even if it was really poor form of you to say it."

"I warned you -- you wanted venting, you got it. I'm feeling like a complete asshole at the moment. Between losing Bell over it, and the ridiculousness of it -- he's the last person in the universe who would intentionally hurt *anyone* in any way! I can't stop worrying about her, any more than I can stop breathing, and I *hate* myself because of it!"

"So go see them," she repeated. "I felt uncomfortable too, for a while. Spending time with them helps. Doing it without others around to distract you might be helpful."

"How uncomfortable? What was your initial reaction, when he told you about them?"

Beverly's eyes went soft. "I knew he had someone. He had that look -- and he was happy, in a way that wasn't obvious unless you knew him well. I thought for a few minutes that it might be Dee but only because I knew how she felt -- I discarded the thought at once, because I didn't think he would feel the same for her. She was his counselor all those years. Friends, sure, but more on a professional level than anything else -- you never saw him be anything but formal with her before, did you?"

I knew what she meant. It'd been part of the difficulty I'd had with believing it, in the beginning. Some of that formality lingered on even now -- he still treated her that way, hardly touching her in public. "Sure. I remember."

"She was afraid of hurting my feelings, she didn't know how I'd left it -- and she was sure he'd never reciprocate. But how do you think he felt about approaching her? Put yourself in his shoes for a few minutes. He's had this beautiful woman counseling him, being an officer on his ship for years, and he's never had so much as a hint that she sees him as anything other than a patient or a captain. He's watched her strike up relationships with a variety of others, including one Klingon. He's seen her from one end of the spectrum to the other -- sensitive and supportive, soft, and then on duty as an officer waving a phaser or undercover as Tal-Shiar. What kind of image do you think he had of her, when one day he woke up and realized she was slowly disengaging herself from the *Enterprise*?"

"What?"

"I'm asking you. You know him well enough to see it -- what do you think happened when he realized she was about to leave the ship? The rest of us were gone. You and me and Worf, anyway. He's never been so close to Geordi, and Data is just different all the way around. And neither of them were so close to her." Beverly strolled around the room slowly, as if examining the situation from all sides herself. "Suddenly she was there, standing alone, without Will Riker to occupy her time, or Beverly. Suddenly she was desperately lonely. And so was he -- you weren't around to head up the poker games, I wasn't around to eat croissants with. Nature abhors a vacuum, Will."

"I hadn't thought about it that way."

"I didn't think you had. But there was more to it than that -- you know, we always assumed you would get back together with Dee. We knew nothing about your relationship before you came aboard, but you were always so close -- there were times I thought maybe you were actually carrying on a relationship on the sly. But as I got to know Dee better, I figured out that wasn't so." She came around slowly and stopped toe to toe with me. Leaned and looked me in the eye. "He wouldn't have made a move if you'd been there, you can count on it. No matter what he felt. And that's all I'll give you, Will, if you want to know more you'll have to talk to them about it."

"Manipulative bitch," I said, not unkindly. When you know a woman well enough, you can get away with the words if you say them with enough admiration.

"Is it working yet, or should I just have Tom beam you into our brig and haul you on over to see our friends?" Her mercenary smile and intense gaze told me I'd lost no matter what answer I gave.

And so that's how I ended up on the *Venture,* on my way to the *Enterprise,* to tie up loose ends.

~^~^~^~^~^~

"Cygne, go back to your nap. It was only Beverly."

"But I would have wanted to talk to her -- Jean-Fish, do you *have* to steal all the good revelations?"

"This was short and bittersweet. She'll call you in a while, but at the moment she's busy talking to Bell. Will's finally pushed her past her limit. Bev sends her congratulations and well wishes, of course, but it was Will who told her about the baby, not me. They met up at the base where *Lexington*'s in for refit, and she found him in what she called the 'pissiest mood' she's ever seen him in. She said he's tied up in knots worrying about you."

"Oh. . . ."

"I told you imzadi would be an ongoing problem."

"Jean, I don't think it's that. Honestly. Part of it perhaps, not all of it. There's more to it than that."

"What more to it is there?"

"Did Beverly say anything else?"

"Just gave me coordinates. We're rendezvousing with *Venture* -- they're giving Will a ride. He's coming to see us. To work this out with you, I assume. I hope he realizes he's not going to get away with doing *anything* to upset you."

"Sshh, don't get upset about it yourself. I'm not that fragile, Jean-Luc. All he needs is a listening ear, someone to support him -- he's probably beside himself about Bell. I know how much she means to him. He just needs a friend, and I've always. . . always been there for him."

"Why did that come out with less than your usual conviction? I know very well how close you've always been, I watched the two of you for years -- it's why I was so shocked about Worf, I think. There was always that assumption. . . ."

"The assumption that a man and woman who are close friends have to be lovers? The same assumption so many people made about you and Bev, except *I* always knew better?"

"Why so hesitant about always being there for him? Does it have something to do with me? I've noticed you've not spoken to him so much since we've been together."

"You don't let go once you catch something, do you? I try not to harbor regrets, but if there is one regret about Worf, it's that it caused tension between Worf, myself, and Will."

"Am I to assume you've been experiencing a continuation of that? I imagined sleeping with me -- "

"Jean. No guilt. I make my own choices. That fateful day when I argued with Will was the crossroads for us. If Will wants to do something about our friendship, he'll do it, but in the meantime he needs a good friend to be there for him. For all I know, he's coming to talk to you."

"I sincerely hope not -- I'm no good at relationship advice. I credit my one and only happily-permanent relationship to the capable guidance of my favorite counselor."

"Jean-Fish, don't sell yourself short. And don't think you have to be a counselor to help a friend. I told you once Will has to vent. It's part of his process of coping. Be patient."

"Deanna. . . if he lost her because of you, if he thinks. . . ."

"No. No, no, Jean. . . . This is so irrational, this fear, you know better and you still feel it. I'm so sorry, I wish I could explain to you exactly why imzadi will never take me from you. But it won't. Remember that? Trust me, hajira, please, don't lose your faith in me."

"I trust you. With everything I have -- I always will. Without you I would have nothing left, cygne. Please speak to me with the voice of your eyes, and help me through this. . . ."

~^~^~^~^~^~

Tom's new ship was what I'd imagined myself getting, back when I was less jaded. Back when my career was the only thing I cared about. Back when Picard and his ship were a means to an end, a stage preceding my own ship.

Make your choices carefully, they tell you back at the Academy. Opportunities won't come back around to give you a second chance. Easy to say that when you're not standing at a crossroads between what you thought you wanted and an unexpected surprise like finding family in an odd assortment of people on a ship called *Enterprise.* I missed those days on the Big E. I'd never find another one like her, and those first weeks after I'd left had been hell. Not even the new ship or the choosing of senior staff or the adrenalin rush of having my own bridge could completely wipe out the ache of missing home. Even Christabel, as wonderful as she was, didn't make me miss it any less.

God, how I love her. Being that far from her, knowing I was about to lose her, just about killed me. I don't know how I managed to talk her into putting off transfer until I got back -- I think Beverly must've talked her into it behind my back. When Bell answered my call she sounded frosty. When she agreed to meet me and we rendezvoused in my quarters she looked like she wanted to skin me and space what was left. I didn't realize I'd let it get to that point, but she said it'd been building for a long time.

But seeing her angry like that, Christabel at war, made me realize how much I had to lose. The more furious she was, the more I wanted her. And I learned how utterly disgusted I could be with myself -- I was losing her because I couldn't talk about my relationship with Deanna in any coherent terms she would understand. Partially because I was afraid of being misunderstood, partially because I wasn't sure *I* understood it completely.

Deanna was going to kill me, in a perfectly-peaceful way, for not remembering all her counselor's advice -- answer the important questions even if it's difficult. Reassure your loved one that you trust them by being honest about even the uncomfortable stuff. She'd also kill me for losing Bell. God only knew why the two of them got along so doggone well. They were night and day, Bell as sharp as Dee was sweet, the difference between Romulan ale and champagne.

But I had a weapon -- Deanna hadn't been forthcoming herself. This time it would be different. Part of my problem was also hers, her lack of truthfulness had brought me to this, and it wasn't just about her lying to me about her feelings for Jean-Luc. That last argument had been a stalemate. Apologies had been made, but no resolutions. It was irrational of me to do it, but I seemed unable to let the emotional baggage go completely.

I needed resolution. I wouldn't be the only one feeling browbeaten by the end of the conversation. I'd go down for the count, she always won an argument, but at least I'd go down fighting if she kept being hardheaded. I had to -- if I stood any chance at getting Bell back, it would be by closing this thing with Deanna one way or the other. I hoped for peaceful solutions. I feared the drastic ones. But I knew the lines were drawn -- I knew Dee and her stubbornness. If it ever did come to a choice between my friendship and her husband, I knew I'd lose.

It took two days to reach the arranged coordinates. The first day I spent visiting with Data, who was now Tom's first officer. I found that I'd missed the android, and that he'd changed significantly; though I'd seen him now and then, I hadn't really talked to him at any length. By the end of the day I found myself grateful that I'd had the chance, even though the circumstances weren't good. Data was finally coming into his own. He even thanked me for providing him with a good example of a first officer from which to create his subroutines. Considering how well in hand he had the *Venture* and her crew, and that he wasn't given to flattery, it made me feel pretty good until I started to miss serving on the same ship with him.

My second day aboard, before we met the *Enterprise,* Tom had me in for lunch, with him and Beverly in their quarters. I sat down at the table in the spartanly-decorated captain's quarters and wondered that Bev hadn't done more with it, then thought about who she lived with and decided not to question. It was pretty obvious why. Tom's no-nonsense attitude was a good clue. He didn't seem the type to hang art on the walls.

The man Beverly had chosen to risk fraternizing with wasn't what I would have expected. On duty, he reminded me of Picard, soft-spoken unless in the middle of a screaming crisis with everything going to hell in a shuttlepod. Which it didn't, while I was aboard, but Data clued me in on that. Off duty, he was affable and given to sudden bouts of exuberant humor, with comments ranging from dry wit to off-the-wall. But I knew there was more to Tom than met the eye, just from scuttlebutt I'd heard over the years.

So I sat in those bare quarters looking around at the few traces of personality present, wondering whether the skull on the top shelf was a trophy or just something picked up off the ground on some world Tom had been on. Bev wasn't there yet. Tom had gone into the bedroom for something. Since there wasn't much to look at, my survey didn't take long. I was looking out at the stars, brooding like I'd been doing all along, when he arrived at my side. For all his size, equal to mine, he could move like a damned cat. I jumped.

That slight smile -- oh, he could have taken me apart, and he knew it. If half the things I'd heard about him were true, he could have taken any four men my size apart. Bellamy had told a story of watching Tom handle two Klingons all by himself, unarmed, moving like a panther and barely breaking a sweat. Craig may be prone to hyperbole at times, but he'd had a look in his eye and a solemn tone that said for once, he wasn't exaggerating.

"One of these days you'll have to show me how you move that quietly."

Tom chuckled and sat down, glancing out the viewport as if trying to see what I'd been looking at, then down at the padd he held. I looked at the uneven line of his nose. Somewhere, someone had busted that nose, and he'd been unable to fix it -- and he'd left it that way. His dark complexion made me wonder if he didn't have Amerindian blood in him. The blond hair said he had plenty of other ethnic influences in the balance. It reminded me of Bell and her tan, and her artificially-blond hair, and it hurt.

"Bev said you got yourself in a bit of a bind," he said, thumbing the padd controls.

"You could say that."

"Something to do with Deanna, isn't it?"

"Why do I get the feeling you know more than you really ought to about me?"

He looked up, his eyes a shade darker than Bev's but no less intense. His lazy grin said he only had my best interests at heart. "Just that you're an old flame of hers. The fact that you're having trouble with Bell but you're going to see Jean-Luc and Deanna says something, too."

"Shit."

"Funny you should say that. At one point my sister Ollie used to use that as a nickname for me, with a wide variety of adjectives attached depending on occasion. Everything from 'ape shit' to 'zebra shit.' Olivia loved me so." He glanced down at his padd again. "You and your friends. What is it that ties the lot of you together so tightly that nothing breaks you apart?"

"You don't know, either? I'd hoped an objective outsider could clue me in." I was mostly kidding.

He chuckled again. "I thought for a while that it was masochism. Then I thought it must be mass insanity. The only verifiable conclusion is that it's the misfit syndrome."

"What's that?"

"Throw a bunch of people who have no one together, and they bond. You've got a distant dad, Bev's got an absent son and a dead husband, Jean-Luc lost his brother and nephew and has no other family, Deanna's got a madcap mother and lost her father, Data is a race of one, Geordi's a Starfleet brat of long standing, and Worf was orphaned and taken in by humans. Put together a bunch of people with a bunch of holes in their lives and watch the puzzle try to fix itself."

"That's your observation?" People had been talking. I wondered who and under what circumstance. How did he know about my dad?

Tom shrugged. "It is today. Tomorrow I may go back to the insanity theory. Not that it matters a whole lot to me, Beverly's to a point where she can go a few days without mentioning one of you in casual conversation. I like you all, don't get me wrong -- I just like to talk about other things once in a while. Though Jean-Luc's turned out to be a better friend than I'd thought he would be. After that incident on Rigel, I figured he'd write me off completely."

Rigel -- I'd heard references to it, but people who knew weren't telling. Something that involved Bellamy, Picard, and Deanna, as well as Tom. And Shelby. A weird combination of people if ever I'd seen one. "What'd you do, make a play for Deanna?"

His face, unexpectedly, gave away that he'd at least considered it. "It's not like she didn't present an awfully appealing target, Will. I had no idea what sort of relationship they had at that point. For all I knew -- " He caught himself, glancing at me as if realizing who I was. "Bellamy crawled up walls for a while after that. Ever see her in a painted-on dress?"

"The first time I met her, she wasn't wearing anything."

Tom Glendenning, shocked -- I should have sold tickets. He leaned away from me. "How'd you manage that?"

"At a Betazoid wedding. Everyone was nude -- it's the way they do it. Made for an interesting afternoon."

"Well, no wonder Jean-Luc got married on a ship." Tom grinned. I'd thought the same thing myself, but knew it had more to do with their unique sense of timing.

"Say, have you been giving Beverly boxing lessons or something?"

"Why do you ask?"

"When she came and got me the other day, she decked me in my quarters while giving me a good talking-to."

"Oh, she mentioned that. Actually, she's been working out with Toynbee, some form of martial arts. I haven't been brave enough to join them. It does tend to make her react with a little more physical directness, doesn't it?" He eyed me critically. "You didn't retaliate, did you?"

"Are you kidding? She could beat me up and I'd let her do it. I wouldn't be able to hit a woman unless she definitely wanted to kill me."

The doors opened while I spoke. We both sat up out of the slumping we were doing, and Beverly's amused grin said she'd caught my last words. "There've been a few women in that category, haven't there?"

"There are better things to do with women than hit them," I said, grinning.

"Oh, and I *know* the two of you could give me quite an accounting of those things. But I'll settle for a sandwich. I have to go change out of this uniform -- a certain clutzy lieutenant dumped an insane amount of something I won't mention for fear of wrecking everyone's appetite on me." She disappeared into the bedroom, and I could smell whatever it was -- bitter and chemical, and the odor left a nasty taste on my tongue.

"That's the subtle way of saying, 'get up and get your own food.' Some days, it's like being in a first contact situation without a translator, but that one's fairly easy." Tom stood and headed for the replicator. "Do you care, or should I just get you a Beverly special?"

"I'm not picky. Is it just me, or have you been domesticated?"

"Nope. Domestication is for sissies. I prefer to call it cross-training." He brought a couple of plates over and put a sandwich in front of me. Looked like a standard Terran hoagie -- big roll with assorted bits of stuffing sticking out, and the corner of a slice of cheese. I didn't pay it much attention, reaching instead for the glass that joined it.

As I reached for the sandwich, Beverly reappeared in a fresh uniform and brought with her a cloud of freshly-applied perfume that crossed the table and pulverized my nose -- it was the only reason I nearly gagged on my first bite. If I'd been able to smell I would've had a warning.

"Liverwurst? The Beverly special is liverwurst? Damn -- are you pregnant too?"

"I'm informed that the official craving of pregnant first officers is lekarra," Beverly said loftily. Obviously, she'd called Deanna. Probably the nanosecond she'd gotten back to her quarters after I spilled the beans. "If you don't like liverwurst -- "

"It's fine. Just unexpected. I was thinking, doctor, health food, sprouts, no flavor. . . you know." Tom's sandwich was roast beef. Hot. I could smell it now that the effects of the perfume had abated. I had to wonder, had he done this to me on purpose just for fun? "What's lekarra?"

"A fruit, from Betazed. She has to have them pickled. I replicated some out of curiosity -- they smell like the insides of old athletic shoes, and chew like crunchy rubber."

"Crunchy. . . isn't that a contradiction?" I asked.

"You'd have to eat one to understand. I don't recommend it. You'd have to be pregnant to enjoy them." She raised an eyebrow at me. "But you might -- you actually like gagh, don't you?"

"I've eaten a lot of things and had to officially like them. Doesn't mean I enjoy it." I glared at Tom. He wasn't smirking -- much. Too busy taking a big bite out of his sandwich.

We ate, and talked, and I should have known it would be the way it turned out. There were discernable pauses in the conversation, gaps in which I could easily insert Jean-Luc's or Deanna's name. Finally I sat back with my hands on my stomach. "You don't have to avoid talking about them. I don't have a problem with it."

Beverly tossed down the last crust of her sandwich and sent a 'drop dead jerk' look across the table. "Maybe I don't want to talk about them. Maybe I think you're some kind of masochist."

"Seriously, I don't have a problem talking about them. I talk to Jean-Luc just fine. Right, Tom?" We'd been in briefings with Picard together before.

"Yep. He's right, there's no problem with Jean-Luc. Unless Deanna happens to be sitting next to him."

I looked at him -- must have been a scathing look. He flinched. "Do me a favor, Tom? Describe to me what you think my problem is. As an impartial onlooker, what do you see?"

His mustache twitched. "At her birthday party, while they were talking about the Q thing -- quite casually, too, it was obvious they'd gotten it hashed out between them -- you went pretty much cold sober. A couple of comments you made sounded off, like you disapproved of something. It's nothing specific. Just an overall demeanor, an atmosphere, a dark cloud hovering over you."

Dark cloud. It was an omen -- that's what Bell called it. I met Beverly's eyes, though she seemed to want to look anywhere but at me, and leaned an elbow on the table wearily. "Like when she was with Worf?"

Tom jerked back in his chair. I'd forgotten he didn't necessarily know about Worf and Deanna. "Freaks," he muttered.

Lips set in a thin line, she ignored Tom's comment. "Pretty much like that. You were the most cloudy in those last few weeks before they broke up."

"Has Dee been talking to you about the way I've been?"

"Don't ask me that."

"I'm not asking you to repeat anything. I want to know if she's said anything. If she's worried, or indifferent, or -- "

"If you don't shut up right now, Will Riker, I'll deck you again," she exclaimed. "Talk to her. Not me. Got it?"

"I don't know why the hell I'm even trying," I muttered.

"I won't tell Bell you said that." Beverly and I staged our stare-out across the table with Tom looking on wide-eyed. Her jaw moved slowly out to the right, then back, setting itself straight and firm. "I can't decide if making you go was doing her a favor or not."

"Kick me while I'm down again, I'll make the jump from peevish to bastard. Dee hasn't said a word to you about that fight she and I had before I left, or you wouldn't wonder why I'm so pessimistic."

"I thought you were on good terms with everyone," Tom said. "You sure appeared to be, for the most part."

"I'm on excellent terms with everyone. I apologized profusely, Dee accepted, we were fine. Then I made a fool of myself when I found out about her being with Jean-Luc and unsettled everything, then we had a few other run-ins, and we settled again. So everything's fine."

"Except the cloudiness -- which wasn't there at the wedding, you just teased. What happened between the wedding and the birthday -- Q. The miscarriage. You don't blame him for the -- "

I cut Tom off shorter than I should have -- he wasn't even involved, in any way. "God, no -- he'd die before he'd let anything happen to her. He loves her so much he'd probably just sit right back and watch her run off with another man before he'd say an unkind word to her. There's one thing you know after working with Jean-Luc Picard for years -- he has principles and he refuses to compromise them."

Both of them looked at me, then at each other, and I wondered why. Was I being measured somehow by my words, or had I just surprised them with my matter-of-fact observation of the too-obvious? Or did Beverly --

"You don't think I'm still in love with her, do you?"

"I suppose not, if you're going to take that tone," Beverly exclaimed. "Give me a break. I know you love Bell. But it just doesn't make sense -- you don't sound upset about anything! What is it that turns it on and off like this? You even sound like you're defending them!"

"I don't have anything against either one of them. I told you, it's stupid and I don't understand it -- all I can figure is what you say, that I'm just not used to them together. We talk over subspace but I've seen them only a few times, for a couple hours at a shot. Not exactly the same as walking the same corridors on the same ship all the time."

"But if it's the same as what was bugging you about Worf. . . would you be even more upset than you are if you saw them all the time?" Beverly gave a one-shouldered shrug, uncomfortable. "I'd think you'd be relieved she ended up with a human -- Klingons aren't known for their gentle lovemaking."

"That wasn't it. Maybe part of it, but it wasn't all there was to it -- she wasn't happy with him, she shouldn't have tried to make it work so long -- "

"Did she talk to you about it?" Beverly leaned forward. "Will -- please tell me she did! Please tell me she talked to *someone* about that!"

I couldn't help it. I grinned. "Ask her about that, Bev. Not me."

She threw her napkin before she could stop herself -- good aim. Bounced it off my forehead. "You can be such a shitfaced brat! That's different, it's -- damn. I guess it isn't your business, either, is it?"

"That's what I've been told." I glanced at Tom. "She's really sweet, isn't she?"

"So sweet you'll probably have a fork planted between your eyes if you're not careful." He grinned lazily.

I was *so* tempted to ask if she still had the mole on her back, just to get even for the sandwich. One of those hazy Odan memories I'd been blessed with -- but there were some things you don't kid about. Especially with men who sleep with beautiful women you've known intimately. I'd made that mistake exactly once, while drunk, asked Jean-Luc if Dee still snored -- the morning after I had kicked myself for it. I counted myself lucky that Bell hadn't spent that night with me and wasn't there to see me hating my own guts. That had been early in our relationship, before she'd moved in.

I looked at Beverly through my lashes, smiling, thinking about moles to distract myself from thinking about my own stupidity and Bell, and Tom's wadded napkin whacked me in the chest. Thrown by Beverly, of course.

"What was that for?"

"I don't like the look on your face. Cut it out." Beverly angry -- she was beautiful that way, almost as beautiful as Bell.

All three of us looked up at the viewports when the stars shifted and became points of light in normal space. Even as the running lights of the *Enterprise* became visible, Tom's comm badge chirped. "Data to Captain Glendenning."

"I saw, Data. I'll see our guest off, thanks." Tom stood up, brushing off his uniform absently. "Too bad this has to be a drop off -- been a while since I've had a group of good poker players around. I like to work for my winnings."

In a way, I wished the same thing. They escorted me to the transporter room where my bag already waited for me, and saw me off with friendly smiles. I liked Tom more than when I'd come aboard; he grew on you. He and Beverly were well-matched. It was easy to see she'd found someone who could take whatever she dished out.

I materialized in a transporter room exactly like the one I'd left, only a L'norim stood at the console, and Jean-Luc waited for me with a smile and a handshake.

It wasn't that I was jealous -- just uncomfortable. Not uncomfortable, either, but unsettled. I couldn't make up my mind what it was. It'd been that way from the beginning, when I'd first found out about him and Deanna. Though we still talked like before, some tension lay there beneath the surface. It was probably my fault for being such a poor sport at the outset, but I didn't know how to fix it. I'd apologized. It was still there. I could relax with him completely, but only after a short adjustment period. I hoped maybe this trip I'd be able to deal with it.

But he'd married Deanna. Having your favorite former CO marry one of your old lovers is one of those things you wake up screaming about, like the classic ensign's nightmare where you forget to put on a uniform and show up on the bridge naked. It especially doesn't help matters when they're also your two best friends. I'd have been more at ease if she'd run off with Barclay.

Well. Maybe not -- it'd just be different. With Barclay I'd just laugh myself to death and have Deanna swear not to procreate. Schizoid Betazoids? Don't think so. The man might be good at what he did, but there was a reason he'd been a patient of Deanna's for so long.

The short adjustment period came and went after a greeting in the transporter room, and I settled into a relaxed, on-leave demeanor. Walking with Jean-Luc down the familiar corridors felt like home, not because it was -- I hadn't been on the 1701-E long enough to feel completely at home with the ship -- but because I was with him. Except I knew it wasn't home, everyone had gone their separate ways except Jean-Luc, Dee, and Geordi, and I missed it all the more.

Having him lead me straight to the lounge surprised me. I realized as we went in that I'd expected to see Dee first thing -- then it hit me all over again, Dee was the first officer and probably on the bridge. We sat down in a corner. The place was almost empty, and after our beverages arrived he went solemn, looking down into his cup with his hands in front of him on the table.

"I'm a little surprised, Will. What prompted this visit? Not that I'm complaining -- we haven't seen you much recently." He seemed determined to start us off on the right foot. Both of us knew well how few times I'd been aboard since I'd known they were together, and that some of those times had been unpleasant -- and that had been my fault. I hated myself for the reasons I'd come, and wished it could be just a random visit for the sake of being with my good friends.

"The *Lexington*'s refit was overdue, and everyone's taking some leave. I figured since Tom was heading out this direction he could just give me a lift." I stroked my beard, reminding myself of the grey in it, and leaned back in the chair. "Hope you don't mind my inviting myself along."

Jean-Luc shook his head. "Not in the least. You're welcome any time, you know that. There'll always be a place here for good friends -- for family."

Tough not to let him see how that affected me, coming from him. He wasn't prone to saying things just to be saying them. I picked up my coffee and sipped it to hide the way I felt my mouth losing the smile. "I know she's busy, being first officer and all, but I hope Dee has a few minutes to spare for a friend while I'm here."

His eyes fell, and suddenly he seemed quite fascinated by his beverage -- had he taken up reading tea leaves? I realized at last what it was I was seeing -- Jean-Luc Picard was nervous. I couldn't believe my eyes. The only thing I could figure was that he didn't want a repeat of previous unpleasant confrontations.

Adopting a poker face, I added, "I'd like to get her advice. I'm in a bit of a bind."

"A bind," he echoed. I realized I'd used Glendenning's term for it, and drank more coffee to wipe out the lingering liverwurst aftertaste in the back of my mouth.

"Bell." The way I said it made an impact. He looked up at me and winced slightly.

"I'm sorry."

"There's a slight chance I can pull out of it, make it work -- but I'm stuck. She thinks. . . ."

He had that knowing, sardonic smile. "She thinks you're obsessed with Dee?"

The man has an endless capacity to catch me off guard. He'd probably noticed, just like everyone else, but who would expect him to be this open about it?

He saved me from whatever I might have blurted. "You and Dee have always been good friends, and I can see how Bell might misconstrue your concern for her. Dee told me how supportive you were when I was. . . gone."

Bloody hell. He had this way of making me angry at both of us at once, at myself for being such a bastard, feeling the way I did, and at him for reminding me of that incident. You can tell what's important to him by the risks he takes, and Jean-Luc loved Deanna Troi more than he loved his ship or his career. Part of the trouble I had with it was that sometimes that was all you had to go by. There had been one instance, his reaction to her miscarriage, that I couldn't reconcile with the rest of his behavior. It bothered the hell out of me but I couldn't bring myself to address it before. I'd come all this way to deal with personal demons, and by God, I'd deal with them -- I hadn't planned to start with this one, but I knew I'd have to confront it anyway, so into the fray I leapt.

He'd noticed the change of mood. "Will, what is it?"

I gave myself a moment, but it still came out hostile -- at least I kept my volume down. "Where were you?"

He leaned on the table, looking at me with complete understanding, and I wondered how far ahead of me he really was. And I should have known, you can't outmaneuver him. He has a way of knowing. I could count the times I'd surprised him on one hand.

"You refer to the miscarriage, I'm assuming?"

"She needed you. More than the bridge did, I'm certain."

His gaze dropped to the table, and suddenly my ire evaporated -- his expression reminded me of the few times I'd seen him completely at a loss and grief-stricken. Hollow-eyed. And for once, he didn't try to hide it from me -- the man felt guilty as hell. I immediately felt like a class-one heel.

"I couldn't inflict myself on her until I had composed myself," he rasped. "Q returned me while I was feeling intense pain. She came to me the instant she sensed I was aboard -- it was my fault. For a while. . . I wasn't certain she would want to see me. My pain caused it. On top of everything else that had happened to her, it was enough to make her lose the baby."

I wasn't like him. I couldn't sit down through the sorts of things I felt when I knew I'd misjudged someone that badly -- I jumped out of the chair and turned half away before I caught myself. "How was it your fault, if Q caused the pain?"

He didn't answer right away, just sat there with a familiar curl of the lip -- he hated this. It took a few moments for him to find words, or to decide whether to speak at all, maybe. "I chose to suffer and return. It was that or stay wherever Q would have kept me. He even told me if I returned. . . I didn't believe him, how could I, he's stretched and distorted the truth before and I couldn't even be certain she was really pregnant as he claimed she was. I had to choose as I did. I couldn't stay -- "

"You didn't even know she was pregnant."

"No. I had only Q's word to go by."

I sat down again. "I'm sorry I misjudged you, Jean-Luc. I should have known there had to be a reason. I *did* know, I just couldn't reconcile it and couldn't say anything because I knew better. You're right about Bell -- it's part of why I'm here. I'd like to find some resolution and see if I can't make things work with Bell again. I guess I'm the last one to know, but evidently I've been too obvious about. . . ." And there I was, where I'd been with Beverly. I had to talk to Dee. I couldn't discuss this with him.

His sharp look nailed me where I sat and held me there. "Say it."

"Say it?" Damn, he could recover fast! Seconds before he'd looked weary and guilt-ridden, now he looked like he'd leap over the table and shake me. What did he want?

"You came here to confront it. To try to deal with the effect it has on your behavior. Say it."

Confront what exactly? Did he think I was jealous? "I came to talk to Deanna -- "

"No."

Vindicate himself one second, piss me off the next! But then I stopped myself -- I'd already misjudged motive badly once. "Why not?"

"She's nearly four months pregnant. If you're going to put yourself through an emotional wringer, you aren't going near her."

I couldn't help it -- sometimes it's laugh or cry, and laughter's always preferable. He sat through my laughing fit, watching me get it out of my system with unflappable calm. By the end, he actually smiled a bit at me.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh. I just want to talk to her about how I can deal with Bell. I wouldn't do anything that might hurt her. At least not on purpose."

"I know you wouldn't." That sounded oddly weary.

"How is she? Does it show yet? I'll bet the crew's excited, you're making history. The captain and first officer having children -- unheard of."

How amazing it was to see such affectionate pride in his smile. He turned the tea cup round on the table slowly. "She's doing very well. It isn't common knowledge yet, but I think the news is spreading slowly -- it's barely visible when she's in uniform, and you can see people actually looking for it. There are a few betting pools already going in sickbay and engineering. No one can decide whether to favor human or Betazoid timetables."

"Lwaxana must be turning handsprings."

He shot me a disgruntled look. "Lwaxana is exasperating. I always know when another message comes in from her, the corner of deLio's mouth twitches -- which is as good as hysterical laughter, coming from him. She wants to come visit. Deanna wants her to wait until ninth month or so, when she goes on leave of absence and she won't have to find ways to occupy Lwaxana while she's on duty."

It still boggled the mind, thinking of him having Lwaxana for a mother-in-law, when all those times she'd done her best to embarrass him. I thought about teasing him about it, but something made me hesitate to do that. "I never thought I'd see you so happy about fatherhood."

It brought the smile back. "I never thought about it. Well -- that's not true. But the times I did think of it, the circumstances were such that it forced the issue. Will. . . I should have thanked you then, but I was a little out of sorts. I appreciate your being there when I was taken away from her. Even if she wouldn't let you be of much comfort, thank you for trying."

I should have been able to say something, but for the life of me, the words wouldn't come. We ended up staring into our cups. At length, I managed, "I really didn't do much. Bell. . . ."

I remembered too well Bell's insistence that we go right over to see her, the minute Data contacted us. She'd wanted me to go immediately, and she'd follow as soon as she explained to the CMO she needed someone to cover for her. My hesitation had drawn a puzzled look from her. The hesitation was there -- Deanna involved with another man, Bell was there, couldn't approach Deanna with too much affectionate concern for fear of being misunderstood.

How could I relax around Jean-Luc and Deanna, ever?

"I didn't mean to kill the conversation," Jean-Luc said, bringing me out of my despairing musings.

"Sorry. I've spent too much time away. A few hours now and then aren't quite enough to make the adjustment to the new circumstances -- the married Captain Picard, already having a child."

Nodding, he glanced across the lounge and waved his empty cup at the waiter. "I sometimes still have trouble believing it myself, and I live in the role."

I watched the waiter bring tea and refill his cup, and walk off. "How did it start, Jean-Luc? What was it that led you to try? Did you think she might have felt something for you?"

For a moment I thought he'd be as close-mouthed as he had the night of the wedding reception when Beverly had needled him about it. Then his eyes traveled to the right, over my shoulder, and I followed his gaze. He seemed to be looking at one of the empty tables. When I turned around again, he was looking at me.

"I didn't think she would. But, I figured, at least I'd find out for certain, and determine whether or not I'd have to find another counselor. I almost had to -- she was about to leave."

"What happened? If you don't mind -- you've got to know how curious Bev and I have been about it. I've seen her with other men. She's completely different with you."

"You know why."

"Sure, duty -- but that's my point. How did you get around duty to the relationship?"

Again, I didn't think he'd answer. But he surprised me again -- it was as though a curtain had been drawn back, and it felt damned good to have him opening up like this. He'd never shared personal details with me. His adventures in Starfleet, yes, even some details about his family, as tenuous as those ties had been. Never any of his romantic relationships.

Although, this one *was* different. He'd never gotten married before. And I knew them both, very well, her longer than him, and maybe he didn't understand exactly what had happened between Dee and me. Maybe? What was I saying? Dee wouldn't have said much, other than a general acknowledgment of it. That was between myself and her, before her liaison with him.

He seemed to be staring at his hand resting on the table -- at his wedding band. "Remember you asked me about the dress? The French peasant outfit?"

"I remember." At the wedding, he meant, and the dress had been the last thing I'd ever imagined Deanna Troi might wear. It wasn't hard to see why she'd worn it for the wedding, now that he identified what it was, but he had said before it was the same one she'd worn that night they'd 'met' and that confused me.

"She was sitting over there." He pointed at the table he'd looked at. "In that dress. She looked like she'd just lived the greatest tragedy of her life. I hadn't seen her in days, not even for bridge duty -- she kept making excuses, avoiding me. She'd stopped coming to poker games, too. I came looking for her because I missed her, and found her here. We talked for a while, and we went riding the next night. Then that away mission on Zibyan -- we nearly lost her. They took her captive when she asked too many questions, and she found a way to get a message out that led us to her. She impressed me."

"She impressed you on the job and that's what started it?"

He actually rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No, Will, she stood up to me. She bordered on insubordination -- she wasn't being a counselor. She wasn't motivated by official concerns. She snapped at me because the Zibyans, who are empathic, by the way, tried to put us in the same hotel room and it tipped her hand early. When I recognized it, I put the ball back in her court and let her win the game."

I grinned at that. I figured she'd be the aggressive one, for some reason -- just from the way she'd changed over the years. "But did you ever figure out why she was wearing the dress?"

I had never seen quite the same expression on Jean-Luc Picard before, and I wondered if I'd ever see it again -- sly embarrassment, and he actually put both hands to his forehead and hid his face. "Shit."

"You didn't say it in French -- must have been bad."

"Will, for God's sake -- you don't want to know. Never mind."

I could only think of one possible explanation for Deanna wandering the ship in a French-style outfit, that he might find embarrassing -- incredible as it seemed to me. "Seduction of a Frenchman?"

He sagged. I'd guessed it. He sat quietly for a moment, palms to eyes, then glanced at me, dropping his hands to the table. "She didn't make it through the door. I didn't know, until you asked me why she was wearing that dress and it made me curious enough to ask her." It surprised me that he admitted it, but I guess he figured the damage was done and denying it was useless.

"Career considerations stopped her?"

"She said she didn't want to lose my respect for her."

Son of a gun. "So career *wasn't* a consideration?"

"It wasn't her first thought, but that occurred to her as one of the ramifications of it. I almost lost my temper when she told me about it -- staging a seduction where a simple confrontation was called for would have been wrong, any way you look at it."

Poor Dee. I imagined her trying to get the gumption to approach the captain she admired so much. She must've been really gone on him to be so witless about it -- her counseling acumen did her no good when she was caught up in her own emotions. Score one for Beverly -- that had to have been an excruciating year for Deanna if she'd worked herself up to abandoning her career.

And poor Jean-Luc, unsettled by the fact that he'd just revealed it to me. I hated seeing him embarrassed about something like this. I could tease him about some things, but I knew well enough how miserable women could make you. I also knew, if only mostly second-hand, how difficult balancing his career and his relationship with Dee had been. It would remain a sensitive issue with him thanks to JAG and everything he'd been through to keep Deanna with him. Hearing about this when he did, after the wedding it sounded like, probably shook him up thinking about the possibilities.

"Hey, be flattered. I only know of one seduction she's pulled. Of course, that was out of character and as I recall she also stabbed. . . . Never mind."

Jean-Luc glared at me suspiciously. He knew about it already, no doubt, but my vagueness shook him out of his prior state well enough.

"Alcar? You took a knife to the shoulder in the transporter room?"

"Merde." He sank back in his chair, shaking his head, visibly relieved that we'd stopped talking about it -- when a knifing was a welcome change of subject, I knew I'd pushed him into discomfort. "Once I actually tallied up how many times we've all wounded each other -- hard to believe we can stand the sight of each other."

"You've never hurt me. Just threatened me a few times. Oh -- that's right, you belted me one once, didn't you, Galen?"

He grinned at that. "You made a pretty convincing rebel. How long did Data keep you in the brig?"

"Until things were straightened out with Starfleet and you weren't officially dead -- as you remember quite well, thank you. And you were far too convincing a mercenary, Jean-Luc."

And suddenly it was back, the camaraderie I'd missed, and some of the dead weight was lifted from my shoulders. I understood a little more than I had, and he'd opened up to me more than he'd done since Dee moved in with him. Beverly would be getting a hug and a kiss the next time I saw her. Her prescription had been good for the patient.

But it wasn't so simple as that -- how could it be? We're talking about Deanna Troi, after all.

~^~^~^~^~^~

{Dee. . . can you hear me?}

{Yes, Jean. I came down to astrometrics to talk to someone, so I'm within two decks of you. Still in the lounge? Is everything all right?}

{Fine. He's in the head at the moment, so I thought I'd check in. He wants to go back to Bell. I told him a little more about how we happened. . . he didn't show any discomfort whatsoever. He's confusing the hell out of me -- he was still angry about my reaction to the miscarriage but when I told him why I acted that way, he almost ran from me. Felt remorse for it. I tried to push him to talk about why he came but he won't. He's curious about the baby, and seems happy for us about it. Have you been paying attention?}

{When I can. He's frustrated and angry, generally. It lingers beneath everything else. He's hurting but he won't let himself hurt. He won't talk about Bell?}

{He hasn't mentioned her but twice, and both times he's turned broody. I told him I could see how Bell might misconstrue his concern for you and it prompted his anger over the miscarriage. And then, I even went so far as to. . . well, he guessed it. About how you nearly seduced me -- he had asked me about the origin of the dress you were wearing. I suppose it's pretty obvious what you were fishing for, once he knew what kind of bait you were using. He thought it was amusing. I thought he'd tease, but he didn't -- just brought up an old anecdote to change the subject.}

{Interesting. Bring him in for dinner. I'm heading back to the bridge -- do you see? I told you there was nothing to fear. He's not here to steal me away.}

{I have the feeling you wanted me to meet up with him first just to prove that, didn't you? Playing off my protectiveness that way, Deebird -- how manipulative you can be.}

{I love you, too, sly fish. Relax, be his friend, distract him for a while from the problem with Bell to give him breathing room. Enjoy your time with him. He needs to reconnect. It's been a long time since the two of you did more than posture at each other and play cards.}

{Yes, ma'am. And Commander, shouldn't you be working?}

{Aye, sir. You'll have preliminary reports on your desk in the morning. I'll ask your wife to bring them home with her.}

~^~^~^~^~^~

I spent the afternoon with Jean-Luc. By the time the dinner crowd started rolling in, we'd progressed from coffee to beer. He showed me to my quarters -- guest quarters on the *Enterprise*, who'd have thought it -- and invited me to dinner. I didn't feel comfortable with that, but how was I supposed to refuse? I suspected he wouldn't let me talk to Deanna alone until he'd convinced himself I wouldn't throw a tantrum and disturb her, and given my track record so far I couldn't blame him.

They'd merged quarters to give them room for the baby. One larger living area, a nursery and a spare room at one end, their bedroom and bathroom at the other end. The merging of belongings was complete -- I recognized her things intermingled with his, all over the shelves and around the room. She came out of the nursery when we entered, smiling, already out of uniform -- she wore a loose sky-blue dress, full skirt and floor-length, and had her hair tamed into a braid. Tired, but with a loveliness only a contented woman could have.

She hugged me without hesitation. She'd avoided doing that, I realized. The wedding had been the first and last time in well over a year. I could feel the slight bulge of pregnancy and couldn't help looking as she pulled away. At least I didn't touch it -- I've learned that pregnant women get upset sometimes about their bellies becoming public property when they start to show. Yves wasn't big enough to kick perceptibly yet anyway.

"Little guy, isn't he?"

"Give it a few months. I have the feeling he'll be as good at kicking in his sleep as his father."

Jean-Luc, already heading for the bedroom door, grunted at that before disappearing. Then we were alone. And she knew why I was there.

"Bell called me."

It shocked me. I supposed it shouldn't, they were friends, after all. "Why?"

"She apologized to me. She seemed to feel some guilt in all this, which of course I told her was nonsense." Deanna hugged herself. "We talked for a bit. She misses you."

"She has a fine way of showing it. The last time I saw her she looked like she wanted to feed me to the crocodiles a gram at a time."

"Why haven't you told her about imzadi yet?"

It struck me then that Jean-Luc, while we were talking in the lounge, hadn't been demanding a confession of love -- he was way too comfortable with me to have expected that. He probably referred to imzadi. He'd mentioned it before so I knew she'd talked to him about it. The thought that he was big enough to live with it irked me. I felt smaller than a carpet louse.

"It's easier for you, Dee. Bell is a woman, romantic, and not likely to see a way around it."

Deanna raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think it's easy?"

"He's here, isn't he?"

She looked at the bedroom door. "Bell is waiting for an explanation. You've made her wait this long, you're making her crazy with your moods, but she's still waiting. Shouldn't that tell you what you need to know?"

"She's not an expert at denial."

Deanna and those expressive eyes of hers can kill you with a look. She made significant progress in slaughtering me for a few moments. "We are all experts in denial of some kind, Will. The difference between you and I is that I will not deny anything to my husband when he asks, and you deny Bell the knowledge she needs to understand why you seem so caught up in my welfare. It's the unknown she fears."

"It isn't that simple. And I don't even know if that's what's causing the problem."

She stared at me as if trying to find the answer in my face. "What exactly is the problem? Bell hinted at your being upset about the baby."

"I don't know, Dee. I can feel happy for you, both of you, but in the next second I start to feel. . . worried. Not even that. Unsettled. As if there's something not quite wrong, but not quite right. I know he would do anything for you, I feel ten times a jerk for the way I feel sometimes, but I honestly don't know what I can do about it."

Her eyes were troubled, but at least she seemed to understand; she nodded and led me to the table. "And Bell can tell when you feel this way?"

"It's only happened a few times -- only when I'm confronted with you directly somehow. It doesn't happen every time, either. She chides me for teasing Jean-Luc, too, as if he can't take it. She's so sensitive about it. I mean, it's just good-natured ribbing."

"Not the way you do it, Will."

My back hadn't yet touched the back of the chair, and I froze, looking up at her. "He said that sometimes people misconstrue, and I agree, people do take it wrong sometimes. But he's one of my best friends -- he knows I'm only teasing."

She stared at me again, her lips in a thin line, and I was jarred back to reality with a resounding thud. Mrs. Jean-Luc Picard. Her demeanor had changed slightly -- she'd always been dignified, serene, mostly-serious, saving her sense of humor for close friends and more private moments, but it was like Beverly had said once. Dee protected her husband's privacy, probably kept a closer watch on his emotional well-being than ever -- and she took his reputation *very* seriously. I'd seen her divert the teases of his fellow captains a couple of times. I could understand why. Being so closely associated with him and still being an officer under his command had tied their professional reputations together inextricably.

I wondered if they ever heard some of the things said about them. I sometimes heard them, from innocents who didn't realize how close my ties were to the Picards. The Command Experiment. The Fleet Folly. Worst of all were the bets placed on the duration of Picard's career now that he had a pregnant wife sitting next to him on the bridge. The opinions of the admirals they had convinced were all that mattered, practically speaking, but no one could convince the fleet at large that this would work. In all honesty, I have to admit I had a few doubting moments myself. But if anyone could pull it off, it would be Jean-Luc.

He returned, in civvies, looking like he'd be going riding. The boots were the giveaway. She turned admiring eyes on him and undid the top button of his shirt, starting a small silent war between them; while she went to the replicator for dinner, he buttoned it, and when she came around to put a plate in front of him she undid it again. The process repeated itself a few times while she set the table. He didn't react or even look at her, really, just did up the button with an absent flick of the fingers.

I hadn't seen them this way before. All I'd ever seen of them had been out in public or in groups of friends, never just me with them in private. They hadn't done anything like this in those settings. And before long, the undoing of the button was accompanied by a touch of the cheek, a finger along his throat, a tracing of the top of his collar.

Jean-Luc asked me what I knew of how Data was doing aboard *Venture,* and Deanna remained silent as we ate. She was probably upset with me. While Jean-Luc and I talked of old friends and where they were presently, she anticipated things I wouldn't expect her to, getting us seconds on something or refilling drinks, asking me but never saying a word to him. She kept touching him. The game with his shirt button was only an excuse to get her hand on his shoulder or down the front of his shirt.

It had the odd effect of making *me* feel exposed, naked -- sympathetic embarrassment? I felt like I was watching her make love to him. Which, I supposed, she was. She didn't seem able to stop herself. Sometimes it was nothing more than a brush of her fingers along his shoulder as she got up to go to the replicator.

I knew there was something to him that drew women. Even if I couldn't tell what it was, there was plenty of evidence. Vash had been one of the very few I'd met; there had also been Jenice Mannheim, and Nella, and Beverly -- I guessed there had to be others but couldn't tell you who or when. Like I said, he keeps that part of his life pretty much to himself. You can tell when he meets up with the ones with whom he's had actual liaisons; he gets uncomfortable, like someone's about to read his diary to the crew. I'd been surprised at the variety. Personalities ranged from the cool elegance of Jenice or Beverly to the overt sensuality of Vash. All of them had their own style, their own class.

Deanna had nearly tried to seduce him, and from the way she was behaving now, whatever mad impulse had driven her to that still possessed her. He didn't react to the brush of her fingers, not even when she went so far as to spend a few seconds playing with the hair on the back of his neck. Geordi had told me at one point that once in while, a look passed between the two that might be able to power the ship. This was the equivalent of it in touch. She orbited him as if she couldn't escape the pull of his gravity.

I could appreciate that she was drawn to him, found him irresistible, but his lack of reaction felt like tolerance to me. Not even a look? Most men would've been itchier as she went along, eventually asking her to save it for later -- or throwing out the guest. At length he did touch her -- patted her on the tummy. Oh, boy. Maybe I'd need to reassess this. Maybe he hypnotized all those women.

Maybe I needed a new brain. What was I doing? Why was I thinking that way about them? One minute uncomfortable with her behavior, the next expecting reciprocation from him. What a jerk I was being. I should've brought Beverly along to deck me when I deserved it.

"You're being too quiet," he said, after a pause as I finished a piece of apple pie. His tone had gone gentle -- it took me aback until I realized he'd spoken to Deanna, not me.

"I've been thinking too much. Too many things to do tomorrow." She smiled and rubbed the back of her neck.

I had taken very little time over the past few years to really appreciate how beautiful she was. When you know someone as well as I know her, you can get to a point where you take some things for granted. At that moment, I was struck anew by just how much like a goddess she was -- not that she acted like one all the time, but in quiet moments like this, she did have an incredible aura of serenity. It wasn't hard for me to imagine the blue dress as a toga. She could be Athena, perhaps, except she was too serene to be the goddess of war and justice.

I've seen her in just about every mood she could be in, and in just about every state -- sickness, health, elderly, pregnant, and even dead. I've been there for her through it all. Everything she's been through in the past decade, I was at her side or not far from it, supporting her and letting her cry on my shoulder or vent in my ear about her admittedly-petty peeves and tribulations, everything from a badly-hacked hairdo to aching feet. At this moment, she looked happy as I've seen her so few times before. It was good to see.

Until she stopped looking at her husband and turned to me, that is. It was just a matter of degree, she still looked happy, just less so. Her eyes asked questions -- I used to be able to decipher those questions, but right then I seemed to have lost that knack.

"Perhaps you should go to bed early," Jean-Luc said. "Since I've been entertaining Will all afternoon, I can keep doing that."

Her eyes left me for him. "Perhaps I should let you do that. I have the feeling you'll lecture me into it if I don't go to bed, anyway." She stood and reached for his plate. Catching her hand, he shook his head and stared up at her until she sighed and retreated to the bedroom, brushing her hand over his shoulder in passing. "Good night, Will. See you tomorrow."

I helped him clear the table. At least he was making sure she took care of herself, I told myself, though I didn't care for the way he'd insisted on it. She hadn't seemed so tired, either. I got the feeling Jean-Luc was protecting her from me, trying to keep me from upsetting her and endangering the baby. And while I understood his reasoning, it irked me that he didn't trust me once he'd made known his concern that I'd upset her and I'd reassured him I wouldn't do anything to harm her.

She had to know I wanted to talk to her in more depth than that brief encounter earlier. That she didn't speak up bothered me more yet. She used to come to me when I needed to talk, a long time ago in a different world, when we were all together and met on Tuesday nights for poker. She was her own person, Jean-Luc kept saying, over and over -- she could have decided to talk to me anyway.

I went riding with Jean-Luc, at his invitation. The whole encounter over dinner bothered me, in that same old nervous way I couldn't pin down.

~^~^~^~^~^~

{You're sure you don't want me to stay with you?}

{I'll meditate easier alone, Jean-Fish.}

{You're sure you're all right? He didn't overwhelm you?}

{No. I keep telling you, I'm not that fragile -- I feel perfectly fine. Just weary, which is usual for a day of working while pregnant. He's still working through his feelings. Activity will help him. I'll have to ask the first officer to make sure you're on leave tomorrow so you can keep him busy.}

{They worry about the wife influencing the first officer on the job, but they don't realize the greater danger is the other way around.}

{Can you tell me you don't enjoy the company of your friend Will Riker enough to take one day of those months of accumulated leave to spend time with him?}

{Damned empath.}

{Give him one of my more challenging horses. It'll keep him occupied. And when you come in, if I'm asleep, I expect to be awakened pleasantly.}

{I'll just tell him we'll go riding tomor -- }

{Down, bad fish -- go riding with your friend. I need rest.}

{Oh, yes, you definitely need the rest.}

{Stop that. You'll confuse Will if you're not careful.}

{SHIT! You did that on purpose! Don't make me ill -- oh. Thank you.}

{See you in a couple hours, horny fish.}

~^~^~^~^~^~

Both of us seemed preoccupied on the holodeck. Jean-Luc gave me one of Dee's horses, claimed the piebald mare was more than I could handle. Daring me to ride it. I did, and she was a challenge, all right. I wondered if he and Deanna rode together the way he was riding, like he was being chased, laughing as he sent the white Arabian over fences and fallen trees in the complicated maze of terrain they'd programmed. I almost fell off a couple times, but caught myself just in time.

After he left me at my door on deck seven, I prowled around my quarters aimlessly. Being alone at night reminded me of Bell. I was so used to coming home to someone now. Domesticated. But I loved it -- I loved Bell, missed her touch, missed her soft humming and her whispered endearments in French as she smiled and tickled my beard. I missed her in my lap shoving aside padds and fumbling with my uniform.

By the time I stopped pacing and tried to lay down on the bed, I'd worked myself into a state of agitation that I knew I wouldn't sleep. I got right back up and went back to the holodecks, on the off chance one would be free. I lucked out.

I wanted something that would put Bell out of my mind for the night, and a good fight might be a way of working off the tension I'd been carrying around. Worf's programs weren't in the system, so I did a search for something similar -- and found one with Deanna's name on it.

I stood on the crux of a dilemma. She wouldn't tell me what this was. I knew that, as sure as I knew I stood there. As sure as she'd never told me word one about her relationship with Worf. I tried to tell myself it was probably a self-defense training program she'd used in working toward command. The problem was, it showed right there that it was created around the time the ship was commissioned. The risk levels were set high, and judging from the energy consumption stats, it was pretty intensive. It takes more energy to manipulate more bodies and make them real enough for physical contact.

It could be anything, I told myself. But I remembered the look in her eyes, sometimes, while she was with Worf -- some days, she came on duty haunted by something she wouldn't tell me about. I'd try to reach her but she wouldn't say a word, just gave an excuse and smiled pleasantly. I remembered how they would disappear into the holodeck or his quarters. I knew they argued, sometimes you could tell by the scowling Worf did or the set of Dee's mouth. Nothing ever affected their work, however. She could keep her private life separate from the professional. Maybe that was how Picard had known it would work, with him.

I didn't like how she changed while she was with Worf. All the mok'bara classes, the bat'telh lessons, the self-defense techniques -- she'd been doing that long before Worf and not altered her general demeanor off duty. None of it affected her, until Worf.

I wondered if this program blinking on the console might hold a key to what I didn't know. If seeing it wouldn't give me a hint into the side of Deanna she kept from me, maybe even a clue into why she'd shut me out so thoroughly.

God forgive me or make me burn in hell, I couldn't help myself. I tried it.

'Voice authorization required.' In winking red letters.

It made me all the more angry. It meant she had something to hide. It meant I'd just tried to invade her privacy for nothing, the computer probably logged the attempt, she'd probably be furious at me for it, and I'd done it for nothing -- I'd never know. What a fool! One slip of judgement and I'd roast for it.

While I stood swearing in as many languages as I knew, the doors opened. Jean-Luc stood in the arch looking at me, in a loose blue tunic over his uniform pants.

"Did you know about this?" I snapped.

"About you being so angry you woke Deanna? She's feeling too sensitive at the moment or she'd have come to see what you were doing herself instead of resorting to a sedative." He glanced at the panel. "You're running her programs?"

"I did a search for ones like Worf's and this one came up. I was looking for something public domain. Did you know she has battle simulations in here? Complete with weapons?"

"Doesn't surprise me. She probably borrowed this from Worf. The log says it hasn't been used in a couple of years. These days she fights with deLio -- before the baby, that is."

"Doesn't it bother you that she's -- "

His searing look silenced me. "It bothers me that you're running programs that belong to someone else without permission. What's wrong with you?"

"Jean-Luc, this has the risk level cranked up to maximum!"

"Is it any of your business?"

All the fury in me came screaming up my chest like an overloading phaser rifle. "Deanna's my friend! My closest friend, until she started seeing Worf -- she closed up and turned her back on me, dammit! She pushed me out of her life in increments, and when he left she opened up a little, but it was never the same. And now I find this -- I should never have told Worf he could see her! I should've told him to back off. It would have -- "

"Will," he cut in quietly, punching the controls. The door shut behind him. The grid was swiftly replaced by a large white room. Fencing foils stood in racks along one side. But he didn't challenge me to a duel or any such nonsense -- he went to another rack and took out a long staff. Tossing it to me, he got another.

Whirling his staff over his head, he attacked. We traded blows for a few minutes until I was panting and damp spots showed on his tunic, and I called a halt. "Why are you doing this?"

"You came to work off whatever's bothering you. Let me know when you want to talk."

I planted the end of the staff in the mat. "What is this? Quarterstaffs?"

"Deanna doesn't care for fencing. I fence with the holodeck opponent, and she plays with the staff. Sometimes we compromise and spar a little together with both. She's quite good -- all the bat'leth practice, no doubt."

"Has she told you anything about Worf?"

"I don't believe this," he growled. "I don't believe you -- you seem determined to pry into her private life -- "

"That's not what this is about! She was with a *Klingon* who at one point claimed that human women were too *fragile* -- "

"And it's none of your business, or mine, is it?" His words rang out through the room.

"That's what I kept telling myself. It's why I told Worf he could -- "

"Did Worf actually ask your permission to see her?"

He was infuriating. More curious about that than what had happened to Deanna that she couldn't tell me about! "Not permission, per se -- he wanted to know if I had objections. And what the hell does that have to do with anything? I'm more concerned about the idea that he might have hurt her."

"He wouldn't do that. You know better!"

"He's a Klingon! You know what Klingons are like. We can't superimpose human -- "

"You *know better!* Worf would never use force unless he was absolutely certain she condoned it -- he learned a lot about acceptance of other cultures while serving with us. She wouldn't have tolerated mistreatment."

"That's not what I'm talking about! She wasn't happy with him, but she stayed with him anyway! She wouldn't admit she made a mistake. She's that proud," I exclaimed. "She has a hard time admitting when she miscalculates another person's behavior or attitude -- "

"You're reading it wrong."

"And just how is that? How is it that I'm reading her wrong?"

"Will, it's her business, her life, and you have no right to pry into it. But if it's any consolation to you, he was afraid of her."

I threw the staff against the wall, sending echoes of the clatter around the room. "Since *when* is Worf afraid of *any* single person? Especially one like Deanna?"

Jean-Luc leaned on his staff and sighed. I was struck once more by how calm he could be, even in the face of a red-faced, bellowing idiot. "Will, she reads emotions. The last thing Worf would be comfortable with is someone who knows when he feels intimidated -- it would make him feel weak, give her the upper hand. She doesn't address everything she senses from friends, but she's more casual and straightforward about doing it in a relationship. He wasn't prepared for being with an empath -- how could he be, when she behaves so much like a human on duty? And she was his counselor, too, and she outranked him. No matter how he looked at it, no matter how much she reassured him, she *always* had the upper hand when it came to emotions. After a certain point he probably reached a level of discomfort that he couldn't live with, and that was the end of it."

I could see it, and I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it. "Did she tell you all that?"

"No. Worf did, at the wedding. He asked me if I ever won arguments with her. He didn't think she'd want him there -- he was projecting, he didn't want to be there but he came out of a sense of duty to friends."

It was food for thought, this assessment of his. He was a shrewd judge of character; he also knew Worf that well. He knew all of us that well.

"You seem comfortable with her," I said slowly. "I wouldn't think you'd be any more comfortable with an empath than Worf."

"I would have agreed with you two years ago. But she already knew me too well -- there wasn't much left to be exposed." He gestured with an open hand. "She respects my privacy, when I need that from her. I don't have to ask, either. She senses it."

"Do you ever win arguments with her?"

He smiled at that. "Of course."

"Bull." It escaped me before I realized that he probably did win some of them. If anyone could, it would be him.

He stared at me a moment, then shrugged. "She probably lets me win, actually."

"You're just saying that to let me save face, aren't you? Did it placate Worf?"

"It appeared to." He spun the staff expertly. "But we all tend to believe what we want to, don't we?"

I went to get my staff. I'd never get out of his shadow, and it appeared Worf wouldn't, either. And both of us had been with her first.

What a pathetic observation to make, I thought, swinging my staff only to have him deflect it too easily.

  
~^~^~^~^~^~

"You're supposed to be asleep."

"It was a very mild sedative. Why the shower?"

"Late night workout with Will. He found your battle program while looking for something similar to Worf's, and it seemed to upset him that you'd have it. I don't understand that."

"He never accepted Worf. Only on the surface. He did his best to trust, but he never stopped feeling concern. Jean, what is it? You're feeling uncertainty."

"I feel the same as he. I know better than to pry, however. It's of no consequence -- you're here with me now, cherie. Going to move over so I can get in?"

"I love you, Jean-Luc. I need you -- hold me?"

"What's upsetting you? Oh, poor petite mêre, it's all right."

"I'm sorry. . . I can't quit feeling as though I'm slowly ripping what's left of our family apart. . . Worf, then Bell, and you and Will can't stop feeling tension. . . ."

"Cygne. Stop. The other person in this equation is Will, you know."

"Yes, but. . . feelings don't listen to reason, do they?"

{Come here and be at peace, hajira. . . .}

~^~^~^~^~^~

I sent a message to Bell before breakfast and contemplated just calling her, but didn't want to push my luck. I told her about the talk with Jean-Luc, in the most general of terms, and Deanna's current girth. In other words, I babbled. The things I wanted to say went unsaid, and I didn't expect a reply. She was waiting for something more than what I wanted to say.

Without Bell or my duty to define myself by, I lapsed into full-time brooding mode until Jean-Luc distracted me -- he took more time off to spend with me, requesting a visit to my home, Alaska. We went hiking on the holodeck and he seemed to enjoy himself. I appreciated that. It went a long way toward easing my guilt at taking leave on his ship, and it didn't require long conversations, just a lot of exercise and general 'this is that kind of tree' comments that one does when showing someone around back home. Surprising how much of it I remembered. Alaska felt parsecs away from reality, centuries ago, the world of a Will Riker of a different era. We came out of the holodeck for lunch and I felt like my feet found solid footing at last.

And all the while, Deanna ran the ship.

All those years she teased me about how easy my job was -- who knew she meant it? And she was pregnant and moody into the bargain. I lurked for a while at the back of the bridge that afternoon. It was interesting to see how the atmosphere had changed since I'd been there. Jean-Luc didn't like people eating on the bridge, but apparently allowances were made for pregnant women -- or maybe compromises? Dee kept her lekarra close at hand as if defending them, and the one comment I made about it got me a stern glare that said she'd won the right to have them with her and I'd better not question it. Watching her walk around eating those noxious-smelling pickles and giving orders was a hoot. Any time she got close to someone and spoke, they'd lean waaaaaay back, like they were afraid her breath would cause fatalities. I wished I could take pictures.

The ensign at the helm I remembered as Greenman, the girl Jean-Luc seemed to like so well. Geordi said she was known as the captain's protege. While Dee ran a few cadets through a simulation, sitting in the Big Chair like the pickle queen with her jar at her side, I watched Greenman guiding the cadet assigned to her station, and I could see what Jean-Luc saw. She had her own presence already. She glanced up at me more than once, and even smiled at me. A professional, friendly smile. When the cadet got in a jam he didn't hesitate to ask her, I noticed, and she didn't just fix it for him; she asked leading questions to get him to the right answers and make him think.

Deanna had her own presence, too, and it wasn't the calm counselor any more. She gave orders and they were followed with alacrity. When they weren't followed swiftly enough, a mild reproach laced her words as she repeated herself, then, just once, stern reprimand when the ops cadet got too chatty.

At the end of the sim, I talked to the security chief, deLio, for a moment, then left the bridge and ended up in the lift with Greenman, who apparently had only been there for the duration of the exercise. She greeted me by name and rank.

"Ensign Greenman, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir. Are you on leave?" Her eyes flicked down to the blue shirt I wore.

"As a matter of fact, I am. You're the helm now -- I seem to recall you being in engineering."

"That was last rotation. I'm splitting shifts on tactical, too." She looked at me searchingly. "You were first officer on the *Enterprise* before Mr. Data?"

"That's right. So what do you think of Commander Troi as a first officer?"

She smiled, rolled a shoulder in a half-shrug, and said, "She's tough."

"Tough?" I must have sounded surprised. Her smile got bigger.

"Commander Data was exacting. Commander Troi pushes. It's like she knows just how much you can take and asks for a little more than that. I was one of her patients before she crossed the bridge -- it's a little like what she did in counseling. She gave me plenty of sessions to settle and decide to work on the real issue, and when she sensed I was ready, she wouldn't give up." She wrinkled her nose, looking cute when she did it, and shrugged. "I kinda miss her as a counselor. Davidson's okay, but he's so. . . not with me, when I talk to him. I didn't have to talk so much with Deanna. She let me take the time to feel things before I tried to talk about them."

I almost laughed at the way she'd just started talking to me. She noticed, and I saw the curtain being drawn -- she was mentally retreating from the conversation. "I know what you mean -- she has a way of seeing all the way down into your soul, doesn't she?"

The curtain opened again, slowly. "It's probably her eyes. I wish I could be that beautiful. Other times, it doesn't seem such a good idea. I hate the way guys follow her with their eyes sometimes."

"Really?" She was so young and open-faced -- you could read her eyes so easily. It made me feel old and worn-out.

"I mean, she's the captain's wife -- he's way too dignified to beat the living crap out of them, but sometimes I'd like to. I know she hates it."

"Sounds like you know both of them pretty well."

She blushed, as if she'd just realized how unusual that was. "He knew my uncle really well. He knows my mom. When we were on leave back home, they came to dinner at our house, along with Dr. Crusher and Captain Glendenning, and Admiral Dayson, and my uncles. Well -- Captain Bellamy's not really my uncle, he's kind of a distant cousin, but it bugs him when I call him uncle so I do it anyway."

"Craig Bellamy is your cousin?"

I must've sounded too incredulous. She rolled her eyes and snorted. "I'm nothing like him, thank you very much. I'd much rather be more like Uncle Wally. Or Captain Picard. Only without the baldness, but I don't think I'll have to worry about it."

I laughed out loud at her, and she grinned sheepishly. Then I remembered more about the last time I'd seen her. "Hey, you weren't part of the Ensign Billings thing, were you?"

It startled her enough to send her leaning away from me, gaping. "Oh, heck no, I killed Ensign Billings."

"Come again?"

"Well -- I go to the weight room to work out, usually when it's least crowded because guys like to make noise at me for being the only female lifter in the room. Anyhow, it also usually ends up being when Captain Picard is in there, since he doesn't seem to like crowds either, and I noticed after a while that the desk kept paging the same ensign every time he showed up, just a few minutes before. And then I noticed all these people standing in the hall outside when I went to the replicator down from the weight room. So I let him know what was going on." She looked up suddenly, and I followed her glance. We exchanged chagrined looks.

"Deck seven," I said.

"Deck ten," she said. The lift started moving. "Sorry."

"I did my share of talking. How long have you been aboard?"

"Almost two years. I was a cadet when I came aboard. Matter of fact, I was at ops when Commander Troi creamed you in that war game we were in." She grinned again. "That was fun."

"Oh, really? In what way was that fun?" I couldn't help it. She was so willing to talk.

"She loved it! Even if none of us could figure out what the heck she was up to, she got us to do it, and it all worked out in the end. And Captain Picard and Mr. Carlisle had rug burn on their faces afterward from being dead." Her face fell. "But, I kinda felt bad in the debriefing. Everyone tore apart her strategy. She was a counselor and she'd never been through command school, and all the other command cadets were ripping her apart."

The lift stopped on seven, and the doors opened. I hesitated. I'd been about to go to my quarters, but. . . . "Computer, location of Captain Picard?"

"Captain Picard is in practice room 5C." He'd said to find him when I was done on the bridge, but hadn't told me what he'd be doing. I must have looked puzzled. Natalia nodded.

"He's probably practicing for the concert next week with Mama Malia. Want me to show you where?"

"Mama. . . was she the one in the red dress, at the wedding?"

"That's her. She plays clarinet."

"Lead on, Ensign." I knew where it was, but she was amusing and friendly, and I realized that I didn't know so many people on board any more. The ones I did know were on alpha shift.

She took me to deck eight, walked along a different section than the one where the Picards' quarters were, and grinned as we neared a junction of corridors and found a pair of boys playing. "Kenny, where's your uncle captain?" she asked.

The dark-haired one jumped up and retrieved his big plastic starship. Without a word to his friend, he ran ahead of us down another corridor, holding the ship by a nacelle, and disappeared into a door, through which Picard's characteristic laughter emerged as it opened.

"Uncle captain?" I asked.

Natalia shrugged. "It's what he calls him."

More laughter as the door reopened and Jean-Luc came out, swinging Kenny by the waist. He put the boy on his feet. "Look out for the Ferengi."

"Yes, sir!" Holding up the ship, Kenny raced past me and the ensign, making whooshing noises.

Jean-Luc glanced at me, then back inside. "Thank you, Malia, I'll let you know. See you later." He came down the corridor, flute in hand. "How was the training exercise?"

I opened my mouth to answer but Natalia jumped right in. "Everyone did pretty well, except Ables -- she got the velvet fist for talking too much."

An amused, somewhat reproachful look from him made her take a step backward. "What did *you* think, Captain?"

"I think you've got an impressive crew." I glanced at Greenman. "Some of them actually stand their ground when Commander Pickle-breath talks to them."

Natalia took another step backward. "Well, if you'll excuse me, captains, I have to be somewhere in a few minutes."

When she'd gone, Jean-Luc gave me a lopsided grin. "You flirting with my ensigns, Will?"

"She started talking to me first."

He frowned slightly. "Babbling? Picking her nails?"

"Now that you mention it. . . ." We passed the boys in the junction. Both of them grinned up at him, which made me realize how much things had changed and how he'd progressed in dealing with children.

"I can't fault her judgement, I suppose. Be careful of her, Will. She doesn't just talk to anyone."

"Why do you say that? She seemed almost too friendly."

He studied me a moment before turning away without further comment.

After dropping off his flute in his quarters, we headed up to the officer's mess to meet the senior officers for dinner. Jean-Luc maintained a more or less aloof demeanor, as was his habit with officers he didn't know well. He was a little freer with Geordi and Deanna, but still reserved. Dee reminded me of any first officer -- affable and concerned with maintaining good relations between the captain and his crew. There was a camaraderie there, not as close as the one we'd had on the D but showing promise of it, and as I watched I saw the respect they had for their first officer.

She had it down. And the more I saw of it, the more I missed my old job.

The group dispersed and I was left walking down the corridor behind them, captain and first officer. They were shoulder to shoulder, in step with each other, yet the distance was there. The comfort of two officers who'd worked together for years was also there, and as I listened to her giving him the breakdown of her day on the bridge I couldn't help but wonder if I could have done this.

What if I had suggested it -- pushed her to advance, and to do it on my bridge?

I already knew the answer. It would never have happened. I was, after all, only half a Picard.

Oh, I knew she and Beverly were only kidding about that stupid scale of theirs. I also guessed that after that last argument she probably wouldn't want to work with me again. I wouldn't have had to leave the *Enterprise* if not for that fight, but I'd felt driven to it by her words. And I had to wonder if that hadn't been intentional.

Beverly said he never would have looked at her if I'd been on board. Had Deanna known that as well? She was his counselor. And even if she weren't we all knew the captain would never presume if there were any reason to believe she might be spoken for. The math was surprisingly easy, once I knew the equation. I wasn't like Beverly -- I knew Dee could be manipulative when she wanted to be. She usually wasn't, but it would've taken a lot to drive her to the last resort of outright seduction, and subtle manipulation would have been her next-to-last resort.

They slowed in the corridor outside a lift. "I hope you don't mind, Will, but I have a previous engagement tonight -- breakfast at seven hundred, our quarters?" Jean-Luc said.

"Sure, no sweat. Have a good evening."

Dee smiled at me. "Good night, Will." They got in the lift and were gone. Ah, the Happy Couple, still dating. How sweet. I wondered what symphony would be playing and whether the moon would be shining over Paris on the holodeck. I wished I could think of something else.

I returned to my quarters. A few calls and I discovered that Geordi had a date too, and the other four officers I remembered as being still on board were also busy, on duty or with friends. It netted me one invite to a pool game with a larger group, but what I really wanted was non-official, non-getting-to-know-you contact. Comfortable.

I wished Guinan were aboard. She would have been perfect company for me right then. I wondered where she'd gone off to, and whether Picard would know. The two of them had a close relationship. Made me wonder why she hadn't been at the wedding.

I went to the gym, since no companionship was to be had, and settled in the weight room for some sweating. I'd been slacking off lately and Greenman's mention of lifting weights had reminded me of it. While I pressed a simulated sixty kilos and grunted and sweated, I let myself think of Bell. I'd lived in denial all day but the memory had to come back some time. It came with a vengeance.

I had never had a long-term relationship before, not this long term, and contrary to the opinions of other guys who'd never tried it, it was anything but boring. I found that the nature of the excitement of the relationship had changed, but not dwindled. I wanted her, bad. Worse because there was a chance, a very good one, that I'd never see her again. I had to figure out what it was that kept nagging at me about Dee's welfare. I had to let go, once and for all, or my Bell -- my beautiful sex kitten, personal massage therapist, and friend -- would be gone forever.

One on one with Jean-Luc I could be at ease. With Deanna in the room, I couldn't seem to relax. I kept finding myself watching keenly whenever they made a move toward each other, looking for something that seemed to be missing. I wondered again about what Beverly and I had discussed, if it had been that same phenomena that had created such dark vibes between myself and Worf in those final weeks he'd been aboard.

I have a great admiration for Worf. The man had been like a brother to me, in spite of cultural differences. Klingons in general impress me in a number of ways, and yet when one of them showed an interest in Deanna it made me extremely uncomfortable. Jean-Luc was right. My concern had been irrational, stupid, and involuntary. I knew Worf, knew he would never do anything to intentionally harm Dee, knew she had the sense and the ability to take care of herself, yet as their relationship progressed I found myself worrying about her. I had nothing specific to go on, just a vague sense of wrongness that I couldn't shake. Just like Jean-Luc and Dee. I had to wonder if there weren't a connection but I couldn't see what. The only things Jean-Luc and Worf had in common were positive -- principles, honor, strength, determination, and under the toughness a softer side, rarely seen in public.

At the Picards' wedding reception, Bell had taken time to talk to Worf; she was interested in all my good friends. The instant I saw my beautiful blond Bell talking to him, I'd had this incredibly stupid urge to hustle her off somewhere else. Ridiculous. I stamped the urge out quickly. Yet I wondered if it showed on my face, because when I'd crossed the room to them, she'd given me one of her mild scolding looks.

What was it with me? Was I going crazy?

I was a typical man, Bell said it often. Selfish and full of animal appetites. She was just as bad, though -- she licked her lips when she looked at me sometimes, like I was a dessert she couldn't resist. She liked to tease me about those appetites and how possessive I could be. I liked to accuse her of the same. We played games with each other that way.

I was still lifting, still sweating, when soft swearing interrupted my imagined games with Bell. Letting go of the handholds, I sat up and mopped my face with the towel I'd brought, and saw that Greenman had come in and taken one of the machines nearest the door. She frowned down at the controls between her knees and swore again, quietly, as she mopped her own face with the corner of a towel. I realized she was crying.

In her exercise clothes, she looked different. The tight neon-pink middie and matching knee-length skin-tight pants showed off a figure too slight to show much in the layers of a uniform. Her short saffron hair reminded me of Ro Llaren the way it was styled. Young, trim, athletic, and obviously really upset about something.

She heard my footsteps only as I was making the final approach, and jumped -- I'd never seen anyone jump in all directions before. "Are you all right, Ensign?"

She stared up at me, pale and afraid, red-rimmed eyes sans makeup. As her eyes fell and she reached for the bag she'd dropped on the floor, she said, "Fine, sir, thank you," and in a swift singular motion had the bag in hand and was heading for the door. I caught her elbow.

"I think you have the wrong dictionary. 'Fine' doesn't usually mean red eyes and swearing."

She wouldn't look at me. The constant pull against my fingers as she insisted on leaving, as she leaned toward the door, didn't slacken. "I'm fine, sir," she exclaimed. I could hear her tone becoming ablative armor -- she had herself walled up good. I let go and let her get to the door.

"What's his name?"

She stopped but didn't turn around. "Edwin fucking bastard Sheffield. Sir."

One curt guffaw escaped me at the unexpected, sullen response. "Stood you up?"

"Worse. Told me he had to fill in for someone, and I found out he was filling someone in." She half-turned, backed a short ways into the room, and tried to look at me.

"Yep, he's a bastard."

"Oh, I don't give a flip. The only reason I agreed to go out with Edwin in the first place was -- never mind, thanks for your concern, sir, I'll just -- "

"Want to get something to drink?"

She almost fell over backing away from me. "Captain!"

It was hard not to laugh at being chastised by an ensign less than half my age. "I'm not making a pass at you, Ensign, I'm just by myself this evening and I don't know anyone aboard any more. You're a friendly face, you seem to need a distraction, and I know I do. I'm going to go take a shower and head for the lounge. You want to join me for a friendly chat, I'll even dispense career advice, if it makes you feel better about it."

I left her there to regain her wits. I didn't expect her to really follow through with it, but it made me feel like I'd done some good somewhere along the way. If all I was good for was being a shoulder to cry on for a distraught girl, at least I could make the offer. She made me feel so damned old -- being on the bridge watching the cadets did, too. It made me glad there weren't many cadets aboard my ship.

But she showed up. Gutsy little ensign -- she even wore civvies, an appealing short dress the color of coffee with a cream-colored scarf around her neck. In this setting, the location of the Picard wedding reception, I remembered -- she'd approached Worf at that reception and talked to him. My curiosity about her rose another notch. Gutsy, indeed. Most younger crew -- and a good portion of the older -- were intimidated by the Klingon.

She looked around as she came in, her gaze lingering on a group of young people in a corner. I noticed they quieted somewhat as they looked back, but she was already in motion and heading my way. Hands behind her back, she smiled a little.

"This seat taken?"

"It is now." I smiled at her as she sat. "You look better already."

"Thanks. What's that?" She pointed at my glass.

"It's a Risan specialty, a seabreeze. Cold as space and smooth as silk."

She ordered one. When it came, she sipped and did the obligatory shiver. "Oo. That's good. I think I have a new favorite drink."

"Your friends over there are staring." Not that I cared, but I wondered if she'd thought about it, or if it was what she wanted.

"Probably trying to figure out who you are." She blinked, grinning. "Hey, this is good revenge -- they'll probably tell Edwin I was seen in here with a handsome stranger."

For some reason, her guileless assessment had a considerable impact. I knew better than to read anything into it, but I had to be careful. "Flattery won't get you far, you know."

She gaped a bit. "Oh. But I wasn't. . . ."

"Relax, Ensign, I won't bite. I just don't want misunderstandings."

"I know, sir." She seemed faintly offended by the suggestion that there might be one. "But I didn't see anything wrong with stating the obvious."

I sat back and appraised her for a moment. "Do you sit and chat a lot with Captain Picard?"

"No. Why would I?"

"I just wondered. . . never mind. You like being aboard the *Enterprise?*"

"I had a lot of trouble at first. It got better as I went along."

"It's a good ship -- the best. You'll learn a lot if you pay attention, especially if you're on the bridge. The captain's the finest there is."

Judging from the way she grinned, she was fond of him. "I know. I thought it would be forever before I even got a peek at the bridge. I don't know what the heck he sees in me, but ever since that day I -- you know, I keep meeting captains in the weight room. Maybe if I hang out in there enough I'll meet all of them."

"You met him in the weight room?"

I could tell she was lost in remembering, or she might have realized what she was doing. "Well, my friend and I saw him and didn't know who he was. She dared me and I figured, what the heck, and I sat down -- God, that was embarrassing. I asked him if he'd met Captain Picard. I said he was only the best captain in the fleet, and he said he didn't know about that, that Captain Riker could give him a run for his money -- he pretended he wasn't himself just to tease me."

I lost track of her words right about then, and realized after a moment that she'd stopped talking and started staring. Shaking myself, I put on a polite smile. "Sorry, just drifted off a minute. Us old folk do that."

She grimaced. "You know, if you said that around Commander Troi, she'd scold you. I heard her scold the captain once when he made a similar comment. You're really not that old."

"And how would you know what old is?"

"Uncle Telly's over a hundred. He doesn't go around talking like he's old. He says that you're only as old as you think you are. It's no use reinforcing the idea that you're old by thinking about it all the time."

Teasing ensigns was usually easier than this. I kept expecting her to be discombobulated by something I said, and it wasn't happening. I laughed, at myself mostly, and saw at once that she'd mistaken it for laughing at her. "No, it's not what you said -- it's just that I was supposed to cheer you up, not the other way around."

"Well, shoot, a girl's got to have some fun once in a while. If you really want to hear me whine and groan, I could tell you about the plasma leak I got caught in -- *that* was loads of fun. Eight showers a day, or look like a molting reptile."

She made me laugh more, and she was nothing like Bell when she did it. Her innocent goofiness and melodramatic facial expressions as she described her woes, which she really didn't seem woeful about, weren't what I would have expected from a Picard protege. We drank and traded humorous anecdotes -- she taxed my memory of my days as an ensign and lieutenant, and I realized at last that we'd spent an hour there beneath the viewport in the lounge, with other patrons coming and going around us.

"What is this?"

Both of us jumped. Jean-Luc could sneak up on you almost as well as Tom Glendenning. He stood with crossed arms, glaring down at me. I felt like a kid again, caught out by a girl's father when we'd sat on the front porch too long. I must have been more floored by Picard's sudden glowering presence; Natalia sighed in mock exasperation.

"This is Captain Riker. I thought you knew him already."

Jean-Luc turned a scowl on her that could send ensigns racing for their duty stations on the double. "And you are our career ensign. What have I told you -- "

"Did you know if you hang out in the weight room long enough, you'll meet everyone in the fleet?" She smiled sadly and looked at her hands in her lap. "He's just telling me war stories to cheer me up, sir. I got stood up and he couldn't stand listening to me crying, I guess."

"And it helps that you immediately find yourself a mercy date? You know there are people walking out of here talking about you?"

"Well, I had to do something to make Edwin F.B. Sheffield understand that he'd missed out on a good thing," she said, giving him a big soulful-eyed look. Oh, this was incredible -- this ensign was even giving Jean-Luc a run for his money. And me without my imager.

But he surprised me by not twitching an eyelash. "Go. Or the next time your mother asks, I'll tell her *exactly* what you've been up to."

It didn't even phase her. She rolled her eyes and gave me a lopsided grin. "Sorry, Captain, gotta go. Thanks for the chat -- I won't tell anyone what you told me about Captain Picard, ever, you can count on it."

"I hope you've started carrying your toothbrush with you, Natalia," Picard growled. She winced.

"But there's nothing in the handbook about sitting in the lounge talking to an officer of any rank -- "

"Trying to tease your commanding officer with veiled threats of blackmail. Page twenty-nine. The captain here wouldn't tell you anything damaging. When you're done with the aft torpedo tubes, you can work on the jeffries tubes on deck fifteen."

"Yes, sir."

Jean-Luc paused, with a stunned suspicious look. "Ensign. . . did someone put you up to this?"

"Uh, no, sir."

"Mmm. Did someone *suggest* anything, about Captain Riker?" He took a step closer to her. She jumped up from her chair and sidled out from behind the table, casting a glance at the door as if making sure she had a clear path to it.

"I think I should go -- "

"How did you end up chatting amiably with him in the lift earlier?"

She might have squirmed -- somehow she managed to convey that she did internally, but kept herself upright and standing firm. "Well. . . I only asked Commander Troi if she knew him very well, because I knew you did, and I didn't realize he was the first officer here before until she said so. She said I could probably learn a lot from an experienced officer like him, because he'd been first officer for years and I was probably going to be one eventually, we can't all just get promoted past it like you did -- I figured if there was something *wrong* with talking to him she wouldn't have said -- "

"Get out of here, Ensign." His growl lost all impact thanks to the affectionate smile he gave her. She grinned, a little red-faced at being forced to confess, shrugged, and left the lounge.

I watched him sit down in her abandoned chair and shove aside her empty glasses. "What the hell was that, Jean-Luc?"

"An explanation for why she babbled at you in the lift. Probably also an explanation for why she was here with you. Dee put her up to it." He sniffed and eyed me skeptically. "You like her, don't you?"

"And you don't?"

Jean-Luc crossed his arms on the table. "She's not exactly your run of the mill ensign. Sometimes you forget how young she is, other times you can't help but wonder at yourself for forgetting. She seems to have cheered you up somewhat, though."

"I wasn't aware it was so obvious I needed cheering."

We looked at each other across the table for a few sober moments. He was in one of his open-collared black shirts, riding pants and boots. I wondered how the date had gone but didn't think asking at that point was wise. I was trying to get over my obsession, after all.

"You've been brooding all day, Will," he said at last. "Missing Bell, I'm guessing. Nat must have been a change of pace."

"She is that. Where'd she get that goofy sense of humor?"

He smiled at that. "It's a front she's developed. Want to see what she hides behind it?"

"I'm afraid to ask."

"Nothing dire. Come on, I'll show you why Natalia Greenman will be a lieutenant next week."

He led me to a holodeck. At that point, I did ask, because it occurred to me that if he'd been on a date he should still be on it. "Aren't you cutting the evening a little short?"

He looked up from checking the occupancy light. "What? Oh -- no, I was teaching the Carlisles how to ride. Since Dee can't ride I find my company where I can."

"I've known a pregnant woman who rode until sixth or seventh month." One of my old neighbors, back in Alaska when I was a kid, in fact.

"Not *this* one. Risk control." We walked into the yellow-on-black grid. "Computer, access last logged recording of the flight of the bumblebee."

"The *what?*" I blurted as the grid disappeared and the bridge of a ship coalesced around us.

"The *Bumblebee* is Natalia's training ship. Every third Thursday evening she takes flight with a crew of cadets, ensigns and lieutenants. They draw on old *Enterprise* missions, unclassified ones of course, and run themselves through scenarios based on them. The main flight crew have started reserving the holodecks in tandem, so they can run main engineering in one of them, and a planet for away missions in a third one when called for."

I glanced at the tactical board. "Do they take turns being captain?"

Jean-Luc tapped the console and brought up a roster. "They rotate from one position to the next. This was last week's sim -- Natalia was at ops again. Batris had first officer, that's odd. He's not even command-track. Looks like she pulled deLio in on this one -- senior officers don't usually participate. The scenario must have piqued his interest."

"How long have they been doing this?"

"Six months. I wouldn't have known about it, but she kept humming 'Flight of the Bumblebee' every time I saw her. It made me curious, and she played innocent. And then other crew started humming it, so I queried the computer -- she had a subroutine running that uploaded the latest log file to my attention when I requested information on the song. This is entirely unofficial, she's done this every month and comes up with the variables herself. Recently she started asking for suggestions from senior officers."

"So you're promoting her."

"Do you know what the results of this game of hers have been?"

"A lot of holodeck use?"

"The participants are getting better performance reviews overall than non-participants."

"It's just another sim -- don't they get enough of that on duty?"

Jean-Luc chuckled. "You know what the difference is between Natalia's sims and our sims?"

"No, what?"

"Hers aren't mandatory, and they aren't scored. No ratings system. No performance reviews or debriefings. No senior officers organizing it, except as she taps them for suggestions."

I thought about that for a moment. "No pressure from anything but the scenario."

"Right."

"Interesting. You think she'd let us play too?"

We laughed together at that and strolled down the bridge. After a few moments of looking around, we glanced at each other again. He seemed thoughtful. "Looks like home, doesn't it?"

"Looks just like the old *Enterprise* bridge. Appears to be Galaxy-class. Think that's intentional?"

"With Natalia, yes. She's very much an intentional person."

"The captain's protege." I took my old seat almost without thinking about it, and sighed. "Old habits die hard."

"Yes," he said softly.

I looked up at him standing in the middle of the bridge -- this was home, but we were different people now. He sat in his usual chair, slowly, as if not sure about the wisdom of doing so. I watched him -- he looked at the viewscreen, the empty stations, and smiled.

"Ever miss the D?" I asked.

Hands on the arm rests, he closed his eyes as if imagining we were all there in our proper places. "I miss the people. I'd never gotten so attached to a group of officers, not the same way. There's no going back to it, either. Not even if we had a reunion and tried to run one of these simulations -- we have too many captains and first officers, for one thing. And it would be a toss-up whether Dee or Worf would be more uncomfortable. . . ."

"I wish I understood that relationship. You seem to."

"Not completely."

Encouraged by his quiet answer, I carefully thought out a non-questioning statement that stood a chance at pulling more information from him. "I can see it from Worf's perspective. She's very strong."

His eyes opened slowly, and he was looking sidelong at me, calculating. "Stronger than you know."

I almost launched a defense against that -- I'd known her longer, after all, and how dare he presume? But perhaps he was right. I had to accept that he may know her better than I did, nowadays. She'd shut me out of her life. I was certain he didn't understand how. I wasn't even certain I did.

"I've always thought of her as my best friend," I said instead. Wistfully -- I didn't recognize how it sounded until afterward.

"I know." He sounded a little too understated about that.

"I feel terrible about my reaction to the two of you together, Jean-Luc. I know what it must have looked like. I knew I didn't have a chance, it wasn't about jealousy -- it's pretty clear it wouldn't have worked out with me. I'd never be good enough at doing what you do, balancing careers."

"It's not about good or bad," he said. "It never has been. If it were about good enough, I'm certain I would fall short."

I almost laughed at that. He got up, restless and pacing away from the chair, moving about the bridge without really looking where he was going. He came to rest leaning against the front of ops and crossing his ankles, palms resting lightly on the leading edge of the console. I heard a tapping sound, and identified it after a moment -- his wedding band. What was he nervous about?

"Never," he said. "It's never about good enough. It's nothing but a matter of choice. One choice, that leads to another crossroads, that leads to another. I could have retired, when I was thinking about it -- the last time I thought about it was shortly before that night in the lounge, talking to Dee. It's never about good enough. It's always about choosing one thing or the other."

I looked at the back of his head, that neatly-trimmed fringe of white hair, and thought of Deanna playing with it last night at dinner. He seemed to be lost in thought and spoke distantly. The tapping resumed, a quiet clicka-clicka-clicka that ran along beneath his words. "Deanna nearly chose to leave. I almost left. I don't think either one of us would still be aboard, if it hadn't happened as it did."

I didn't like the melancholy turn his tone was taking. "When are you going to let me talk to Dee?"

He turned around and eyed me. "You can talk to her whenever you want to. She's been a little curious as to why you haven't -- she's hoped you would relax enough to come to her, and you haven't done it yet. She said you were keyed up last night when you left and needed the space, and that you've been on an emotional rollercoaster all evening."

"Oh -- shit." I got up and paced, stopping myself -- I was about to play gorilla again. "Shit," I repeated, rubbing my forehead. "I keep reading things into what you don't say. I keep thinking you're trying to protect her from me. What you said in the lounge the other day about my not talking to her if I was going to upset her. . . ."

"You said you wouldn't do that to her and I accepted that. What's wrong with this picture, Will? Why are you constantly on the defensive with me? I would trust you with my own child and you consistently react to me as though there's some threat being made."

"I want it to end! I want to stop doing it, Jean-Luc -- I don't think about it, don't do it consciously, it just happens. I've got to understand this, I'm losing Bell because -- "

He let me flounder for a few moments. "You have to tell her the truth."

"What *is* the truth? What the hell am I supposed to say? Sorry, Bell, my best friend happens to be another woman? Not to mention my *other* best friend's wife."

"Why are you so angry?"

"Why *aren't* you angry? Do you always react this calmly to someone who's apparently obsessed with your wife?"

As I completed that sentence, I looked up from the floor to find that he'd calmly approached within striking distance. He wore an understated expression of growing realization that he'd just discovered the circumstances were better than he expected.

"Why are you manufacturing reasons you can't approach her?"

I backed away until I ran up against a console along the side of the bridge. He waited for me to answer so long it made me nervous. "I don't know what you mean. I'm not manufacturing anything."

"Do you talk to Bell the way you used to talk to Dee?"

"No. Bell's different. I can say anything to her, do anything -- it's just different with Dee."

"And you miss that. Being able to talk to her the way you used to. . . before Worf?"

"Before Worf."

"Why are you afraid of me?"

"I'm not."

"Why think that I'm keeping you from her, then? I have never claimed to control her, in any way, Will. I will never keep her from you. I may have said as much to you, but you have to realize, I do feel the need to protect her. That doesn't mean she can't decide to override that and talk to you anyway." He took a step closer, looking me in the eye as if trying to make the point clearer that way. "I've trusted both of you, time and time again, with the ship, with the lives of the crew, with my life, and neither of you has ever willingly let me down. I trust her, with everything I have. She would do nothing to endanger the baby. And I know that I can trust you."

I tried to look him in the face after that, but the floor was easier. I was a microbe, a quark -- a fraction of a fraction of a Picard. I was in hell.

At that point, the doors opened, and Deanna came in.

~^~^~^~^~^~

{Dee?}

{I've been paying attention to his emotions. I think I almost understand. I need more time, this needs more exploration, and I think you can help.}

{I wish you wouldn't do this to me.}

{He's not Shelby, Jean-Luc. He's your best friend, and he needs our help. I told you it was more than imzadi causing the problem, and it is. Work with me.}

{Are you sure -- }

{Yves is fine. I am fine. Composure. Talk to me. Let me lean on you for emotional support. I think he's finally ready to talk to me. The scarecrow is finally asking to be helped off the post.}

~^~^~^~^~^~

I suppose I was afraid of him. What he'd do, what he'd say -- but that was irrational. I knew I had nothing to fear, but I still feared. It just wasn't that simple. I could *know* until the galaxy collapsed on itself and disappeared, but I was more certain than ever that this unsettled feeling had nothing to do with knowledge of anything. If it were a thing I could think away, it would be gone.

Deanna glanced around, obviously familiar with the *Bumblebee,* and came down to her husband's side. In the green leggings and loose matching tunic, she looked more petite than usual. After a measuring look at Jean-Luc, she studied me.

"He thinks I'm coming between you," Jean-Luc said. As if continuing a conversation, I realized.

"You are, but that's his fault."

"He wants it to be resolved so he can return to Bell. He wants to talk to you the way he used to, before you were with Worf." Jean-Luc paced away from me, and she turned and walked beside him. It was as though they were discussing a mission.

"Studying to be a counselor, Jean-Luc?" I tried to go easy on the sarcasm -- obviously they were trying to help me. It was just a little disturbing to watch the conference in progress. "I wanted to talk to you about this, Deanna. You had to know that when I arrived. You know why. Why didn't you talk to me?"

"The last time we really discussed your reaction to my relationship with Jean-Luc, we fought," Deanna said. She stopped in front of her old chair, still thinking with bowed head. "Our subspace chatting has been subdued. You don't talk to me the same way any more. I wasn't sure how you would respond to questions from me."

"Is that why he really took time off to spend with me, because you asked him to stand in for you?"

She flinched, looked up at me in shock. "He misses you, Will. Why are you angry? Who are you angry at?"

"This isn't going to work." I turned to go up the bridge. I couldn't do this to her. I wouldn't let him accuse me of inflicting my emotions on her, and already I felt more anger than I thought I would.

"Will!" It was the captain's voice. My feet wouldn't move. What was he doing, ordering me to stay, when he had to see how agitated I was getting?

"I can't figure this out. I should've known better -- "

"If you want Bell to stay with you, turn around and come back," Deanna said. "You can't open the door, I locked it. You came to work this out. I'd like to help you. Just like you wanted -- or were you not being truthful about that?"

So I took the center chair, and dug my fingernails into the arms of it. Realizing that I was probably radiating negative emotional energy, I calmed myself using one of those exercises Dee had taught me, back when she spent time with me.

I was sounding like a bitter old man. Bell had told me that. Now I was recognizing it in my own thoughts, and it only made it harder to center and be calm. I owed Bell an apology for arguing with her about that.

They took the chairs at the helm and ops, turning around to face me, and Deanna looked at Jean-Luc, then at me. "Do you want my help?"

"I'm sorry." A deep breath. "I'm not doing very well at the moment."

"I noticed. Jean, what did you say to him before I came in?"

"That I trusted him. Both of you, actually. That I wasn't keeping him from you."

"Will, you feel you can't talk to me freely any longer. Why?"

"I don't know. You just seemed so. . . unavailable."

She crossed her ankles, legs stretched out in front of her, hands resting lightly on her thighs. "You felt this way when I was with Worf. Why?"

"I was worried about you. You changed, Worf changed you -- "

" -- and just how do you know the changes weren't *your* fault?" she countered calmly. This was new. Where had that come from?

"You can't blame me for that!" My voice rising in volume seemed to be expected; neither of them reacted. Her voice remained calm.

"You barely had anything to do with me when I was with Worf -- "

"I didn't want to make him feel uneasy, and he already looked at me with suspicion in his eyes -- "

"BECAUSE you were avoiding us!" She finally got loud, cutting across my words. "Because you got quiet when we were all in the same room, because it was obvious that toward the end you were growing more uncomfortable! Worf was intimidated by you, Will!" Her eyes flashed angrily. "You said one thing, yet you behaved as though you disapproved. Worf went along with what you said but he respected and valued his friendship with you so much that he worried about maintaining it when you seemed so disturbed by his relationship with me!"

"Dee," Jean-Luc put in quietly. She calmed herself quickly, closing her eyes, pulling herself back to center -- I was amazed at how swiftly she did it. He watched her with affectionate concern, controlled as usual.

When she looked up at me again, she sighed. "Do I read this right, that this difficulty with Worf is more or less the same difficulty as you're experiencing with Jean-Luc? Why are we talking about Worf?"

"You brought him up!"

"You remind me of him, the way you're behaving -- the same unnecessary concern. The same irrational fears."

"You stopped talking to me then. You're still not talking to me."

She glared impatiently. "We've been here before. You keep saying that, it makes no sense to me -- I *didn't* stop talking to you! How can I talk to you when all it does is upset you?"

"How did it change the nature of your friendship when you started seeing Worf?" Jean-Luc asked.

His question seemed to calm her -- his tone begat calm, I supposed. "It didn't, at first. He just gradually became moody, dark -- nothing I could say changed that."

Leaning back in his chair, Jean-Luc got that look he always gets when he's been presented with a mystery to solve. "I can talk to him about you. I can talk about us, and he isn't uncomfortable with that -- even when I finally told him how we got together. He apologized for the way he acted about my behavior when you had the miscarriage, accepted my reason for not being with you right away. He shows no sign of disapproval until you're in the room with me."

She looked at him, and asked, "Is your relationship with him the same as before, one on one, now that the initial squabbling is behind us?"

"I'd say so. He's one of the best friends I've ever had, probably the best friend I have at present."

My sudden movement silenced their discussion, but I couldn't sit still -- I shot up the bridge into the lift on autopilot. Once inside I found myself surprised that this sim *had* a lift. I leaned against a wall and crossed my arms tightly, wondering if the lift would take me to a simulated transporter room, and how angry she might be if it actually worked and I got the hell off the holodeck.

The doors opened a moment later. Deanna stood, hands propped on her hips, and eyed me sternly. "I forgot you could hide in the simulation itself. Get out here, Will."

She herded me down the bridge and sat me down in the captain's chair, then went to ops and turned that chair around to face me. Hands on her knees, she settled into that familiar counselor's demeanor. "So tell me, Captain, why does it affect you to hear that your old CO actually thinks of you fondly? Why are you running away from an open expression of something you could easily infer from the fact that he enjoys spending some leave with you -- and you know how hard I usually have to kick him to get him to *take* leave, you've kicked him into it yourself at times."

"Why is he suddenly being so open about it? That isn't like him." God, I sounded like a sullen teenager! But how could I admit the irrational guilt I felt, that I couldn't reconcile?

Jean-Luc sighed -- still leaning back, he tugged at his shirt in that familiar gesture of old and crossed his legs. Briefing room posture. "Maybe I wondered if you knew it? It does make one question, seeing the way you act. At times I've wondered if you weren't intentionally avoiding contact with us. I had high hopes at the wedding that you'd finally resolved whatever it is that's bothered you. It's disappointing to see that it hasn't, and even more dismaying to find that you're losing Bell, apparently because of this difficulty. I'd hate to think I was a contributing factor to that -- she's been my favorite of your paramours, so far. The ones I've met, anyw -- stop glaring at me, dammit! You know what I meant!" he exclaimed at Deanna, who looked daggers at him.

"Yes, I do, and it's the only reason you're not sleeping in your ready room tonight. You're taking us further off topic, Jean-Luc. That's why I'm irritated." Deanna rolled her eyes. Under different circumstances, I would have laughed at her expression. "All right, Will -- you're saying it isn't like him to express how he feels about others. You're saying you aren't comfortable when he does. That would seem to hold true only as pertains to affection -- you've seen him express other emotions, anger for example. You're. . . expecting him to be Captain Picard, aren't you? Is that why you haven't had much contact with him since you left the ship? Does it make you uncomfortable that you're no longer his first officer you have to find a new way to relate to him? I wouldn't expect that of you, Will."

I stared across the bridge at Jean-Luc, thinking about tramping through Alaska with him -- and other holodeck excursions we'd taken, in other locales. Our off-duty friendship. "No. That isn't it. If we're going to work from the theory that it's similar to what happened with Worf, it doesn't fit."

"Then I suppose that also negates the 'surrogate father marries an old lover' theory," she said with a sigh.

"I am *not* his -- " Deanna's glare silenced Jean-Luc's hostile exclamation. "Sorry."

"Oh, this is hell," I exclaimed, slumping in the chair and looking at the ceiling. "This is not happening to me. This has to be a dream, I'll wake up any time now and find out I've been suffering the influence of mind-altering drugs."

"I don't think so. Back to the problem." Deanna rubbed her temples, then plexed for a moment, frowning. "Worf was intimidated by you. You're intimidated by Jean-Luc. He's nervous because you're behaving in a way that could be interpreted several ways, and Bell's nervous for the same reason -- she thinks you might be pining for me and I'm unreachable, so she's second string."

"Is that what she told you?" I came up out of the chair like a shot.

"NO. Sit down! It's my guess, that's all. Both of you need to center yourselves, you're going to give me a headache."

Jean-Luc said, "We should call it quits for the night, perhaps, and let you -- "

"I'll tell you when I need to quit, thank you." Then less sternly, she said, "Jean-Fish, this isn't going to be easy. You knew it wouldn't be. I'm fine."

"If the problem began with Worf, maybe you should start there -- try to discuss that without fighting about it. I could -- "

"Stop trying to escape. Honestly. You're just as bad as Will."

I had to laugh at that. Jean-Luc shot a sharp look at me, and it got me to sit up straight in anticipation of what he was about to say as he turned to Deanna.

"I *am* as bad as Will. I'm curious, too, about Worf. I know that Worf wasn't like other Klingons, raised as he was by humans, and those years living aboard our ship -- I know he strove to be truly Klingon and was always searching for what that meant to him. That worries me -- I don't know where he drew boundaries. I trust that he did, somewhere, but I don't know and it still makes me wonder. But it isn't my right to ask."

It hurt to watch her wilt and close her eyes. "But you've asked once before -- I told you, he didn't do anything. . . . It's no use. Absolutely no use. We're never going to get around that, are we? You want to know for certain whether Worf ever injured me?"

Again, Jean-Luc looked at me. I knew the expression -- the 'be careful, Number One, this one's dangerous' look. I cleared my throat nervously. "I think we already know. Medical logs. . . ."

"It wasn't what you thought, Will. He felt terrible about those. Accidents, all of them. Miscalculations. But that wasn't all that bothered you, was it?"

"He's Klingon, Dee. You're not. Your culture and his are as far from each other as your homeworlds. His customs, his -- "

"I'm capable of negotiating compromises between clashing cultures, I've done it as a counselor -- you know that. And judging from your emotions at this moment, that isn't the real issue."

"Then I suppose I can't tell you what else bothered me. How can I tell you when I'm not even sure myself?"

She heaved a great sigh and considered. "I've looked at it from my own point of view. I've tried to see it from yours. I'm not any closer to understanding why you were so disapproving of Worf, or what it has to do with Jean-Luc."

"Dee, why did Worf think you wouldn't want him at the wedding?" Jean-Luc asked. "I can't see it -- he still obviously felt some respect, possibly affection, for you. He wasn't upset himself. He seemed afraid of upsetting you."

Again, the pained wince. Deanna steadied herself, glancing at her husband, and seemed to find the wherewithal to straighten her shoulders and try -- I wondered from the look of her if she wouldn't just call it quits at that point, but she surprised me. He'd said she was stronger than I knew. Apparently, he was right.

"Will, were you angry at me for being with Worf?"

I took a moment to think about it. "I don't think so."

"He thought you were. The last thing he said to me before he left the wedding reception was that he was happy there would be no friction between you and Jean-Luc, because you didn't appear to be angry at Jean-Luc as you were at him. He was surprised that you had performed the wedding. He told me he could be at peace about the difficulties we had with you, because you appeared to have no ill will toward him or me any longer and I appeared to be very happy with Jean, and at peace with you. He came thinking there would be tension and left with none. I felt good at that point, thinking all the loose ends were tied up. I left you sitting in the lounge with the others, and I thought you were happy for me. Is there anything about this set of assumptions that you find incorrect?"

"No. In fact, I thought it was over and done with at the wedding, too. I felt fine, and. . . ." I remembered then the moments in the lift, confronted with a teary-eyed Bell feeling none too secure about things. I'd told myself the wedding had made her that way, and reassured as best I could. But she had chided me for laughing at the groom. Truth was, now that I remembered it, every time I'd seen Jean-Luc being affectionate with Deanna at the wedding, I'd looked away if possible. I forced myself to recall some of the things I'd said.

An incredulous noise from Jean-Luc interrupted my musings. Deanna and I looked at him, and he looked up from his thoughts. "Oh -- it just explains why Worf suddenly felt compelled to start talking to me the way he did. Like he felt he needed to justify himself to me somehow. He tried to explain that he couldn't understand how you could say one thing and mean another."

I almost said something about Deanna doing that all the time, then recognized his tone -- he couldn't quite understand why Worf might say that. "Are you telling me you understand everything she tells you?"

"Stop it, both of you, no more digressions," Deanna exclaimed. "You were fine at the wedding. When did it start being *not* fine again?"

"When Jean-Luc disappeared."

She hadn't expected it. She'd expected me to say when she'd miscarried, but I knew it had been earlier. "Remember it. When exactly was it not fine?"

"Data contacted me. Bell wanted me to go right over to see you and she'd come as soon as she talked to our CMO about someone filling in for her, and I felt I shouldn't -- it was too awkward."

"And when you did get there, you hardly touched me. But you wanted to hug me. Why didn't you?"

"I didn't know how you would react."

"You hugged me at the wedding. I greeted you with a hug, just today. But you couldn't -- you couldn't comfort me. That was true of when I argued with Worf. We couldn't talk the same way any more -- you couldn't feel right about comforting me, because you expected Worf to do it. . . and when there were disagreements, you probably saw me unhappy and felt frustrated because you couldn't -- is that what it is? You were furious after I miscarried because all that time Jean was missing, you felt incapable of comforting me, and the minute he came back you expected him to be there when I miscarried? And then you didn't say anything. You didn't feel you had a right to confront him about your anger, because you don't feel you have a right to comfort me like you used to do -- because I was in a relationship with another man and you were afraid it would be misunderstood?"

I slumped back in the chair. "Apparently, but that can't be all it is."

"No," Jean-Luc murmured. "This is something like what Beverly went through -- adjustments. Redefining relationships and emotional attachments. But there is one complicating factor with Will that's absent with Beverly."

Deanna nodded soberly. "I should recant -- I think there *is* also a surrogate parent issue at work."

"When you're done discussing the two-year-old, could you open the holodeck and let him out to play?" I couldn't help myself. I could feel myself morphing into the bastard Beverly had confronted, sullen and unable to see a way around this.

Both of them stared at me. "I'm sorry, Will. The psychologist came out of the shadows in response to Mr. Hill's analysis," she said. "I'm afraid we spent quite a bit of time trying to figure this out already -- you know neither one of us wants to lose your friendship. If the issue of caring for my needs is a problem. . . but you couldn't voice it, could you? Because you know rationally that it's not something you need to worry about, but you're still feeling that attachment -- how can we address this in a way that resolves it?"

"That's what I'm here to find out." As if she didn't know.

"Is there a resolution?" Jean-Luc asked wearily, rubbing his eyes. "Or is it going to be one of those things we have to simply live with?"

The way Deanna came up straight and glared at him put me on the defensive -- then her eyes slid to me. She stared, one of her looking-right-through-you specials, prying empathic vibes from the depths of my soul, then turned back to her husband.

"You said once that if there were no solutions we would change the rules."

He swayed away from her, snapped up straight, and smiled ruefully. "I did say that, didn't I? Can you change the rules of this sort of thing?"

"Maybe not the rules that govern the thing itself, but we can stop using the ship's weaponry to do things we need a mere hand phaser to accomplish."

He regarded her as if trying to be an empath himself. "What did you just try to tell me?"

I started to feel better already, when Deanna smiled at me -- she knew something more than she'd known a few minutes ago. She felt some confidence in herself.

"You mean you don't understand *everything* I say, Jean-Fish?"

"I understand what I heard, it's a question of understanding what you meant by it."

"Oh. I see. I was just thinking that our approach to this has been almost completely cerebral -- the problem appears to be eluding that. I don't think this is something you can understand, Jean-Luc." Her tone was condescending. Almost dripping with it -- a jolt of anger and defensiveness surged through me. What happened to protecting him? I'd never heard her that condescending to anyone.

She stared at me again, and her expression turned solemn -- almost smug, but that vanished the instant it appeared. "I want to know something, Will, and I don't think you'll be able to tell me outright. I need to do something you'll find distasteful. Actually, something you'll both find distasteful. Do you trust me to do it?"

"Do we have a choice? We're only locked on the holodeck."

I thought my borderline-hostile tone would upset him, but Jean-Luc smiled at me reassuringly -- he didn't seem upset by her previous condescension. In his place, I would have been. It disturbed me that he wasn't reacting to that and puzzled me that she'd done it. It reminded me of her mother.

"Jean-Luc, what did Q tell you, before you came back?"

He flinched, head up and a wince frozen in place. The question surprised him. I couldn't see what that had to do with anything, but she must have known already what he would say, I realized. She was asking. Not demanding. He could choose not to, but he did, slowly, sounding as though it pained him. He lowered his gaze to his hands folded in his lap.

"I had a choice. I could stay away, or return. If I stayed wherever Q would have put me, you wouldn't miscarry, and you would return to Earth and raise the child. If I returned. . . the miscarriage, and. . . you would leave me. For Will."

She turned her tear-filled eyes on me -- I think she must have been getting a triple dose at that point, because Jean-Luc sounded terrible, I couldn't breath, and she couldn't have been too happy at asking for such an admission from him. The rest of the story. What a choice! His incomplete version had been bad enough, but --

I didn't have a chance to complete the thought myself. Deanna mustered her control and continued. "Q wouldn't have used that against him if it weren't already there. He used our fears against us. What do you fear, Will? Why do you react as you do to us?"

I was too busy reeling from her words to respond immediately. It was impossible -- this wasn't real. Afraid of me? Jean-Luc Picard? After the way Deanna so obviously loved him, after she'd married him, after I had fallen in love with Bell, he actually thought of me as a threat? But he sat as if made of stone, still with closed eyes and bowed head, Picard at his most controlled, which usually meant his emotions were running highest.

How could he think I would want to take his wife from him? How could he think I'd be capable of taking her, when it was so obvious she wouldn't have anything to do with me -- and why would he think I'd want to, when he'd made it so plain that she was the center of his universe?

Deanna stared at me, her eyes shouting for me to speak. "We are all capable of nonsense, Will. We are all capable of insecurity and denial. What are you afraid of?"

"I don't know what to tell you. I don't know what I'm afraid of. What do you want me to say, Deanna? I don't know what to tell you!"

Her lips tightened -- almost imperceptible, but I knew what to look for. "How about the truth, Will? How about telling me the truth?"

It didn't occur to me until later that she intended to bring back all the rage from the last time she'd said those words. She'd said it on purpose, to pick up where we left off, right where the argument of a couple years back became nothing but angry verbal wrestling.

Except now I had something I hadn't had then -- I had my ace in the hole.

"You lied to me. You looked me in the face and told me the only reason you wouldn't give us a second chance was that same old wheeze about professionalism." I realized I'd shot up out of the chair and stood pointing an accusing finger at her only after I spat out 'professionalism' like an offensively-bitter nut I'd bitten.

"It was the reason you would accept."

Stating the fact of the matter threw me off for a moment. "You told me we could always be honest with each other -- the counselor would say that was the best course of action!"

"The counselor wasn't there," she shot back, with as much hardness as I was using. I expected Jean-Luc to say something but he merely crossed his arms and kept his head down, doing his best to appear as uninvolved as possible. "You wouldn't have believed honest."

"Why?"

"Because you weren't seeing clearly. Because the reason wasn't simple. Because it would have hurt you, and we were already too hurt from the arguing."

"So take the easy out?"

The mixture of pain and outrage in her eyes brought me up short of the things I would have said, if I hadn't looked at her right then. "I was open and honest about Worf. All it ever did was cause friction between the two of you. All it did was generate a conflict, for both of you, between honesty and honor. You respected each other and struggled to deny the obvious, to maintain friendship between all three of us. It killed my relationship with Worf with tension. That was why it failed."

She gave it a chance to sink in. As I opened my mouth to speak, she went on. "If I had told you, that day we argued before you left the ship, that I was in love with someone else and that it was your captain, it would have destroyed more than my friendship with you. I believed that Jean-Luc did not reciprocate and would not have pursued a relationship even if he had. All I could predict happening was more of the same, tension and strife, and Jean-Luc wouldn't have been able to understand why suddenly his first officer started scowling at him and spending less off-duty time with him. It would have been an irrational and pointless end to relationships between people I loved. It would have made Beverly start to question, incessantly, until she found out what was going on, and I believed that would damage another potential relationship between her and Jean-Luc, and damage my friendship with her -- not to mention my friendship and professional relationship with my captain. It would have torn all of us apart, in the most hurtful way possible, and I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself for it."

"So manipulate me, lie to me, treat me like I couldn't handle the truth, because you were afraid I couldn't control my own emotional reaction -- "

Deanna rose from the chair and shot her dark glare of death at me. "You couldn't seem to manage your disapproval of Worf. Why should I have assumed anything better would be forthcoming? In fact, it probably would have been worse, judging from the reaction you had to my being with Jean-Luc months later, after you had already started a relationship with someone else and you were no longer looking for second chances with me. I'm sorry, Will, but sometimes the truth is best postponed. I've been waiting for you to get enough distance from the situation, for you to be ready for this discussion. For a time I knew would come -- a point at which we could finally discuss it rather than be bogged down in emotion. And here we are."

So much for an ace in the hole.

We stood there on the mock-up of a Galaxy-class bridge, while the universe reeled around me and all the implications and possibilities swam in my head. And all the while Jean-Luc sat pinching the bridge of his nose, head bowed, unmoving. And I thought that his posture spoke of grief. Why, I couldn't imagine. I would have understood anger -- defensive, worried about her well-being, or just general protectiveness.

"Now that I have your attention," she said calmly, pulling my whole attention back to her, "you can tell me why you are worried about me. I don't care if it makes sense or whether it hurts my feelings. If it's the only way to clear this up, it needs to be said."

Why, indeed, would I be worried about her? Like I hadn't wondered that a million times before. Like I hadn't wrestled with this nest of Denebian slime devils for the past few days. Like it made any sense at all to worry about a little dark-eyed goddess with a masochistic bent, the ability to manipulate and terrify adult men of several species, and Captain Picard for a husband. And chronic pickle breath.

"Because I do."

"Shit," Jean-Luc muttered.

"Well, you wanted an answer," I exclaimed, falling back into the chair behind me. I felt like I'd just battled a few warbirds and mopped up a few Borg cubes for good measure. Some ridiculous part of me, probably the one who'd ogled Beverly not too long before, brought up the random thought that I was in fact battling the wife of Locutus --

Damn. I had to find out what was going on with me! This was insane.

"Do you want me to make an assumption, Will?" Deanna asked. "Here's my assumption, based on what I've observed. You don't want to know why you're worried about me. You don't want to feel you're betraying Jean-Luc by doubting his ability to care for me. Why have you teased him incessantly, when you have such profound respect for him?" She had me pinned down with her eyes, soft and sorry for what she was doing, but doing it anyway. "Why did I once find you and Jean-Luc drunk and disorderly in a holodeck? Why did he feel you needed to resort to physical violence to get it out of your system -- and why did you find it impossible to do it?"

I couldn't answer those questions. Neither could Jean-Luc. We both watched her expectantly, standing in the center of the bridge between us, arms crossed and looking small and fragile in her jade green outfit. She still regarded me with soft apologetic eyes.

"There was one issue with Worf. Taking care of me, meeting my emotional needs. You know the emotional exterior of a Klingon but you don't know that Worf ever met my needs. And because you were the one there for me so often over the years, providing that support for me, you worry that it's not being taken care of now that it's someone else's duty. You're also defensive of your perception of Jean-Luc -- imagining him being supportive in that way conflicts with the image you have of him, so you're uncomfortable seeing us together off duty. Your rational mind tells you that there's no need for concern, but whenever there's something you can't quite reconcile, your instinct tells you there is. As first officer the captain was your responsibility, to a degree -- you were check and balance, questioning his judgement when necessary for his own safety, providing a liaison and buffer zone between captain and crew. As friend to me, you were supportive, affectionate, and always there. You can't keep yourself from feeling responsibility for either of us, even now. You've avoided confronting this and subconsciously sabotage our interactions with you. The internal conflict you feel shows on your face and we read it as frustration with our behavior -- or disapproval."

"I don't -- " I couldn't continue. It made sense. It even felt like it made sense, for the first time -- it felt true.

"You perceive a distance where I do not, Will. He isn't distant with me." Deanna crossed her arms across her belly. "No one is ever really distant with me. And this isn't your only issue -- I think you also blame me for breaking up the family. I can sense your emotions from all over the ship, and although it's taken me a while to understand the patterns of them because you've stayed away so much, there is a pattern. We miss the way it used to be, too. We miss you -- and Data, and Beverly. We miss Worf. The changes were drastic and difficult to work through. Jean-Luc thought about retiring to pursue civilian projects, perhaps work with his friends in the archeological field, and I thought about retreating to private practice on Betazed -- everyone had places to go. But you knit together your career and your personal life, to such a degree that family and work became almost the same -- what is it?"

"This isn't right. This isn't right! It's ridiculous -- "

Jean-Luc leaned forward. "Will -- stop it."

"I can't accept this! I CAN'T! You're WRONG!" It hurt -- I couldn't seem to breathe. What she was saying, it was all wrong. How could I blame her for the dissolution of what we'd had aboard the 1701-D? Worf's departure had taken place some time after their breakup and while he'd seemed uncomfortable for the duration, that was expected -- it was a new situation, after all, they'd been lovers, and I knew how it could be working with a former lover -- but the breakup was my fault. But it wasn't my fault, she'd stopped talking to me --

Because it made Worf uncomfortable, and he probably withdrew from her when the conflict was one of loyalty -- brother or lover. Her pain had been caused by her inability to do anything, as she spun on the spear point of maintaining confidentiality, his and mine. We had to confront the truth -- she couldn't do it for us. We'd stuck her in between with our mutual inability to voice our discomfort.

Then it was a moot point. Worf was gone, no point in beating a dead horse. Then that fateful day I'd asked her to dinner, tried to start all over with her, and she'd turned me down -- and the issue had come up again. I'd accused her of keeping things from me, she'd said I disapproved, and I'd denied it. Why hadn't she explained it to me then, what she'd just explained to me now?

But she'd tried.

_I'm not going to stick around and subject myself to the silence like Worf did. I'm not going to put up with it. Deanna, what the hell do you want anyway? What was it that made you think he could give it to you? _

_My relationship with him --_

_\-- is none of my business. Just like everything else -- I don't know you any more. I used to think we'd be friends forever and it's looking like I was just as wrong about that as everything else! _

_If we're no longer friends it's your fault, Will. I didn't choose this. Worf didn't deserve your disapproval and neither do I. _

_I didn't disapprove! I never stood in his way! _

_The hell you didn't! How can you say that! I'm an empath, I know what goes on behind that brooding expression you always --_

_I wasn't brooding, dammit! I wasn't disapproving! He came to me and asked me if I disapproved and I wouldn't have lied to him about it, and he wouldn't have gone forward if I told him --_

_If you told him the truth! How about the truth, Will? How about telling me the truth? Right now -- how do you feel about me being with Worf? How *did* you feel, when you --_

_The hell with this! Who the hell cares how I felt! It doesn't matter, because he's gone -- and so am I! You say I'm telling you lies, I say you've got plenty of your own lies to maintain, because if you gave half a thought to professionalism you would've never attempted a relationship with a fellow bridge officer in the first place! I can't believe you've got the gall to tell *me* you won't give *imzadi* a second chance after you tried with *him!* How can you tell me I can't do better than to make you walk around with that haunted look you had so often with him! How many arguments were there, how many times did you come on the bridge with that professional mask welded on so tight even the captain noticed it?_

_Maybe I don't want to try with another officer because I don't want to make another mistake!_

_Oh, I see -- so I'd just be another mistake? You know that already, before you even try? What's the matter, run out of room for notches on the bedposts? _

_That isn't what I meant! How dare you accuse me of that -- how *dare* you tell me that what I felt for Worf was --_

_So you can tell *me* how I feel and what I mean, and I can't point out the obvious? Maybe I just wanted to keep you from working your way through the rest of the crew and causing *more* dissension -- _

_GET OUT! I don't want to speak to you again until --_

_Until hell freezes over. Good bye, Deanna, have a nice life. _

I wanted to swear loudly, but I knew if I said a word I'd be crying. The things I'd said to her had been so far from true, and she'd still accepted my apology when I'd finally gotten around to making it. I'd been feeling like a big man, forgiving her for being so unreasonable and all the time it'd been me.

She stood in front of me, waiting. I could see it in her eyes. My pain.

I couldn't do this to her. The baby -- she had both hands on her belly, and tears streamed down her face.

While I sat frozen, unable to move, inflicting my pain on her, Jean-Luc rose from his seat at the helm and quietly stepped up behind her. He stood at her back and did a curious thing -- he held out his arms, hands open, palms forward. Deanna raised her arms along his, put her hands in his, and leaned against him, turning her head until her cheek rested against his. They stood that way for a while, eyes closed, and as I watched the pained lines in her face smoothed to peacefulness again. Her fingers moved, trapped his, and drew his arms in around her until their hands rested over Yves. She nestled there in his arms for a few moments then stepped away from Jean-Luc. Toward me.

"You shouldn't be doing this," I said.

"I have to."

"You don't have to -- Jean-Luc, why are you letting her do this? This isn't good for her or the baby! She's going to have another -- "

"She can make her own decisions." He spoke so matter-of-factly, so calmly! He had to see what this was doing to her! The weird little ritual may have soothed her momentarily but she would keep trying to counsel me, and it hurt to think about all the pain I'd already caused her in the last hour, in my selfish obsession with my own hurt feelings.

It was all my fault. All this time I'd been battling to protect her from her own mistakes, with Jean-Luc -- all this time I'd thought she was insulting me by sleeping with yet another officer when she wouldn't give me a second chance -- all this time, I'd been in the wrong, and closing my ears and eyes to it. About Worf, about me, about everything. Wrong.

And again the pain was building in her eyes.

"Dammit, Jean-Luc -- override the damn door! Get her out, or let me out!"

"She won't let me."

"Won't -- let you! SHIT! You fucking bastard, I can't stop feeling this! Get her out of here! Pull rank on her, for God's sake! Override her command codes! Have her beamed out!"

Jean-Luc's jaw muscles tensed slightly, but he stood firm, his expression giving away little but showing some tension of his own. "I do not cross professional and personal. This is personal, Will. She wants to help you and she can't do that unless she's here to confront you. My presence is at her request, for support."

"Support? You call this support? You call this taking care of her?"

"She can take care of herself. When she needs me, I take care of her."

His distance pushed me over the edge. I surged out of the chair at him, and bellowed down into his face point-blank.

"SHE'S *MY IMZADI,* WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU KNOW WHAT SHE NEEDS! WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU KNOW HOW TO TAKE CARE OF HER?!"

He stumbled back a few steps, head up, as if the words had physical impact, and stared at me with wide, questioning eyes. Immediately I realized what I'd done -- apologies formed then jammed themselves up in my throat when he smiled.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?"

All the fury drained out of me. A few seconds of considering whether I could scramble back up over the tactical console to escape, then a few seconds of nausea. I sank down into the chair and stared at him.

Deanna came to me, sat in her old spot, the counselor's chair on my left, leaned across the arms of both chairs, and kissed me lightly on the cheek. "Welcome to guerilla counseling, Captain."

~^~^~^~^~^~

{Are you sure he's all right? That sounded like it hurt, the way he shouted.}

{It did, but it had to come out, and it had to happen with you present.}

{How do you know it will help him to acknowledge imzadi to me? You're absolutely certain you couldn't just get this done by discussing it?}

{It's an educated hunch. I know him. He was being a very stubborn scarecrow, clinging to the post that way, but we got him off it. And no, discussing it wouldn't have helped. How do you think the whole standoff started? We could have gone in circles forever around his denial. He had to see it for himself, work it out for himself.}

{I trust your judgement as always, but it makes me nervous, just the same.}

{The two of you admitting your two equally-irrational fears to each other will help. I think you'll be able to rest easier when we're done and you see that it made a difference to him.}

{It may have helped, but I hated pushing him that way. I hate these little games.}

{Apologize, then. Talk to him. But give him a little breathing room, first. You feel better yourself, oui?}

{Actually, yes. It *was* a little silly of me, wasn't it? You're all right?}

{Yes. Having you here to anchor me and help center me has made a difference, made it easier to take. Thank you, Jean-Fish.}

{The things I do for friends. I'm exhausted.}

{Almost done. It's time for the den. . . what's the word?}

{Denouement.}

{Yes. That.}

~^~^~^~^~^~

Guerilla counseling.

All of this was intentional. She'd just wrenched me through to the truth of it. The pain was in retreat in the face of this -- she finally told me the whole truth, finally I knew all of it from top to bottom, about Worf and her reasons for not telling me about Jean-Luc -- and she'd only ever kept it from me to avoid further hurt. She'd waited until she knew I could handle it.

I should have trusted her. Should have realized there was more to it and that she wouldn't keep things from me for no good reason. But here she was, sitting with her hands on my arm, looking at me with expectant affection, her smile slowly growing as I worked through it and came to the begrudging conclusion that I had never lost her friendship at all, just been blinded by my own selfishness.

Jean-Luc stood over us, arms crossed, and nodded at Dee. "Am I dismissed yet, or are you going to need me as a prop again?"

"Oh, I think we'll be fine now. I'll promote you to prop again later on for a completely different purpose. You're dismissed."

And he sat down, in the first officer's chair. "All right, Will, let's get this worked out."

"You were just dismissed," I said suspiciously.

"As a prop. For the record, you weren't being manipulated until she decided to change the rules. And as an object of previous psychological manipulations, I empathize with you completely, and apologize for my part in it -- but you did want to deal with this, you said. I didn't know how else to help other than going along with her little manipulations."

I stared at him, he stared back -- waiting for me to react. Scratching my jaw, I considered for a moment. "How do you *live* with her?"

He gave me a fond, amused, and somewhat cheesy grin. "I learned that resistance is futile."

"Oh, hell."

"Not usually. She does have a way of making herself useful, every now and again."

I sat looking at each of them in turn, back and forth, and they watched me with twin smiles on their faces. "Shit-eating grins," I grumbled, grinning myself.

Jean-Luc's laughing eyes sobered slightly. "The new roles are tough for you to grasp, aren't they? Was it hard, seeing her in your old job?"

"I miss it." I was surprised at how emotional I sounded. "I enjoy my own command, now that I've settled in, but being back aboard the *Enterprise* reminded me of how much I enjoyed working with you."

"Data had to start going to counseling when he stepped into your shoes. That should tell you something about how rough the adjustment period was. Part of that was my fault," Jean-Luc said. "We'd gotten to know each other that well -- communication had been so simple, expectations so understood, and suddenly it vanished. The hole you left had to be changed to fit the new occupant; I had to experience a paradigm shift. I had to go through it all over again with Dee. Right, Data?"

Deanna snorted. "I am not designed to hold that many terabytes of information, Captain. Please refer your question to the computer."

They laughed with me at that. I grinned at Dee -- she was happy but looked a little frazzled. "But you're doing pretty damn well with first officer, for a counselor."

Her lopsided 'I'm-only-putting-up-with-you-because-I-like-you' grin was a sight for sore eyes -- it felt like the old Deanna was there with me. "It's not easy, being pregnant and having to do all the work -- between you and Data I've had a tough time measuring up. But it's easier on the pregnancy than being counselor would have been. I've been that sensitive to emotions, that day after day I come home exhausted -- if I had to face the turbulence of troubled patients it would be so much worse. The cumulative effect would do it. I'm very lucky to have Jean on the bridge with me. He doesn't mind that I lean on him for emotional balance -- he's very good at being calm, at forcing himself to it to help me. He's also very understanding about giving me time to myself to meditate."

"And letting you eat pickles in his chair?"

"No, that I had to fight with the captain about. I finally had to get Mama Malia to help -- she craved German chocolate cake and beans, when she was carrying Kenny. She and her husband Ronnie lectured him on the ins and outs of pregnant women and which fights to pick." Her eyes laughed. "It isn't good to get between a pregnant woman and her pickles."

"I realized how lucky I was she didn't crave beans," Jean-Luc said. "Although the pickles do tend to linger on her breath forever, at least they don't make her flammable."

I grinned at that, but it struck me -- that puzzling little ritual. They'd done it to demonstrate something to me. "You borrow on his calm?"

"I don't allow the emotions of others to influence me, under normal circumstances. Something about the way my body changes during pregnancy makes me much more sensitive to them, however, and it's sometimes tough to compensate, especially when I'm distracted by duty." She curled her legs under her, patting her belly absently. "Jean-Luc lets me tap into his emotions when I have to. He's very familiar, much more so than everyone else aboard, so I tend to hone in on him first anyway. It helps me block out what others are feeling."

"So he was here through all this, saying next to nothing, for that reason?"

"He does want me to avoid emotional stress, but you needed my help. You know we both care about you." She looked at the floor and sighed. I thought that sigh sounded a little too reflective.

"What is it?"

"Will. . . I wasn't going to tell you, but I think you should know. I think it will help you understand. You were there for me when I miscarried. I appreciated it then and I still do, very much -- I know you were trying to be there for me when you perceived I had a need. But the reason I wouldn't accept comfort from you was that I was still extremely sensitive, and I already felt the overload of my own emotional pain and Jean-Luc's emotional and physical pain -- your anger and frustration were like knives to the brain. I couldn't handle that. I was wrapped up in blocking everything around me out as much as I could. I truly did need to be left alone. I wasn't rejecting you."

Ten gravities of realization flattened me. Again, I wanted to swear but didn't trust myself to say a word. That meant I ended up staring at her like a gaping idiot. Minutes ticked by. At last, I managed to scrape out a question.

"Why didn't you tell me to leave?"

She raised her eyes to mine and smiled sadly, taking my hand. "Because you needed to be there, for your sake. I had already lost the baby. I didn't want to send you away because I knew it would hurt you."

The tears came. I couldn't control my voice -- it wanted to jag up and down like I'd been eating shards of metal. "My God, Dee. . . what a damned martyr you are."

She leaned, put her arms around my neck, and let me sob a couple times. Probably would've let me wail all night, but it didn't take long for me to remember someone was sitting behind me. She let go the instant I started feeling discomfort and used her sleeve to wipe my eyes.

"Stop that!"

Jean-Luc's dry chuckle surprised me. "That sounds familiar."

I turned to look at him and realized -- she had done the same for him, as a counselor. I couldn't imagine him crying, but he *was* human and I had seen him go through some serious pain. She'd been with him through his post-assimilation trauma. I'd watched her go through some of it with him and held her while she cried it out afterward. She'd been with him that terrible night when he'd tried to attack her. What a shock that had been -- seeing Captain Picard turned into a wild-eyed maniac, the suffering etched in his face and mirrored in her eyes. She'd sent me away, and at the time I'd even felt a little relief that she had, even though I'd felt guilty about that. About not being with them both, supporting them.

Support. She was right. I'd missed being on both sides of that equation. All this had been their way of demonstrating to me that it was still there, and I'd been blind, deaf and dumb about it.

"I guess this is supposed to be closure?"

"Not closure," Deanna said, drawing my eyes back to her. "The turning of a page. You're going to have a lot of thinking to do, on your shuttle back home. And yes, we'll loan you one. As long as you return it, and bring Bell with you for dinner when you do."

"Is that an order, Counselor?"

"It's a suggestion. From a friend. How do you feel?"

"Better. Infinitely, overwhelmingly better."

She got up and crossed in front of me, then settled in Jean-Luc's lap. Comfortably, I might add, and he accepted her with an ease I didn't expect, that said she'd been there many times before.

"Thought you weren't supposed to do that on the bridge."

They looked at each other and shared a smile before Deanna answered. "One, this isn't our bridge. Two, this isn't his chair. And I sense you've managed to make the adjustment with less of an emotional hitch this time -- I thought you were going to crawl under the table last night at dinner."

"Is that why you set up the dinner with the other officers, to make me less uncomfortable?"

Jean-Luc sighed. "Will, you were making *me* uncomfortable."

"I'm sorry. I've been bad, haven't I?"

Deanna looked at the ceiling. "Bad? I touch my husband, you feel uncomfortable -- embarrassed for him. He shows a little affection, you feel cynicism, and then you feel absolutely ridiculous, and then you get angry at yourself. You run around feeling like an old man until I send in Ensign Greenman to remind you there's still life left in you -- she's a typical human female, just swept away by that grin of yours. She knows better than to *do* anything about it -- she did meet Bell at the wedding, after all. But I'm sure it gave both of you a bit of a change of pace."

"Who's Edwin Sheffield?" I asked.

It made a good distraction; she did a double-take and frowned. "I think he's in sciences. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Will was consoling her in the lounge earlier tonight after she'd been stood up," Jean-Luc filled in. "I found them laughing over a couple of seabreezes with most of sciences watching them. Both of them in civvies, of course."

"You'd better not tell Melissa her daughter was catting around with Will Riker, she'll have a fit," Deanna said, smiling fondly -- she liked the ensign, too. She eyed me in friendly skepticism. "Still being a bad influence on the lower ranks, I see."

"She's an interesting anomaly. Ensigns on *my* ship snap to attention when a captain comes in."

"Nat does that too, when the captain's in uniform." Jean-Luc smirked and patted Deanna's knee. "She's also very good at picking up subliminal messages -- I have the feeling she knew Dee was nudging her in your direction. She went above and beyond the call of duty, it sounds like -- and she probably did want revenge on her would-be date."

One of those pauses that come along and bring everyone back to the real issues at hand ensued. I sorted through the jumble of emotions and issues we'd just discussed, and glanced at Dee. She pensively rubbed her belly until one of her wild impulses struck her, whereupon she transferred her attention to Jean-Luc's head with a puckish grin.

"It doesn't matter how much you rub it, I won't stick to the ceiling," he said.

I couldn't stop laughing. It burst out of me and kept rolling, until I slumped helplessly in the chair and looked at them again, gasping for air. They were grinning at me. I wondered if they'd done it solely for my benefit, but even if they had, did it matter any more?

"I owe both of you a big apology."

Jean-Luc sniffed. "You can't help the way you feel any more than I can. Welcome home, Number One."

"He doesn't call me that, you know," Deanna said. "He never used it for Data, either."

My smile probably was losing the amusement in favor of other emotions -- hopefully thankfulness was a major component. "I hope I don't suffer another relapse any time soon. I'd like to avoid another downward plunge into whatever you want to call that irrational state I was in."

"You just needed a paradigm shift. Some paradigms need a bigger shift than others. And Will, even when emotions are completely irrational, you *have* to let yourself own them. If you'd been a more regular patient of mine you'd have learned that lesson as well as Jean-Luc."

"Okay, fine, I'm a big dumb guy. Or as Bell says, a typical man." I smiled at her, with her arm on Jean-Luc's shoulder, sitting in his lap like it was the most comfortable place for her to be. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you have someone who can make things easier for you. I'm sorry -- I seem to manage to be the opposite of what I intend."

She sighed and shook her head. "You're no worse than anyone else I know, Will. It's just the way it is. We all choose our crosses to bear, and I really wouldn't have it any other way. Go home. Talk to your Bell." Her teasing, laughing grin appeared. "Before she decides to find someone who *doesn't* wear outdoor carpeting on his face."

Jean-Luc chuckled while she teased me, all the way to my quarters for my bag, then the shuttle bay. It was like old times, his quiet forbearance of our good-natured sniping, and it felt so good to have it back. Except now he walked next to her, and I was the one along for the ride. I watched them together, hands behind their backs, and realized Bell was right. There *was* something there, all the time, whether they touched each other or not, whether they addressed each other directly or not. No fool like a blind one. Where had I been all this time?

I paused in the door of the shuttle and looked back at them. Side by side. Captain and first officer in civvies. Formal and composed, in spite of her attempt at sticking him to the ceiling. They smiled at me, open affection in their eyes, and I knew they'd take care of each other.

Damn, it felt good to believe that.

"Thanks, for everything," I said.

"You're welcome." Jean-Luc's expression darkened. "But get it through your head -- you're too old, I'm too young, and I'm not your damned father." Technically, the age difference was such that he had two out of three wrong, but I thought I understood -- he wasn't talking about age. Between Dee and Natalia he'd probably had his ears chewed off about it.

"I know." I couldn't resist a smirk. "You're a lot easier to get along with."

"And you're not old, either," Deanna put in. "So lose the 'weary old man' expression you've been wearing."

"Natalia set me straight on that one, actually."

"I think she's missed her calling, she should have been a counselor." Dee seemed pleased and proud, obviously as fond of the girl as Jean-Luc.

"Maybe she'll do the opposite and become a counselor *after* she reaches command?" Jean-Luc commented as he turned away.

Deanna rolled her eyes, grinned at me, and went after him. Just before they reached the limit of the door sensor, she goosed him and leaped backward, hands behind her back. He stopped and glared at her. Then, like sunlight through rain clouds, it turned into a smile, a chuckle, and a head-shake, and he reached out to her. She took his hand and they walked out through the parting doors, letting go as they emerged in the corridor, but in that oddly-coordinated way of theirs, he fell into step behind her so the last glimpse I had of them was of them walking together without touching, but still obviously very much together.

I probably shortened that shuttle's lifespan, pushing it hard as I did. I had moved further away from the starbase, riding with the *Enterprise,* and it added a day to the journey -- would've added more if not for the way I taxed the engines. I did a lot of thinking. Half the time I grinned like a fool thinking about Dee getting away with goosing him. About his protege with her goofy front, her holographic Galaxy-class *Bumblebee,* and her bad luck with Edwin F.B. Sheffield -- who really ought to have his head examined. About Jean-Luc's obvious affection for the girl with the loopy sense of humor that reminded me of a much-younger Deanna. And, about how I could get away with sending Beverly flowers without getting her in trouble with Tom. I'd send Deanna flowers, no sweat -- and the satisfaction of knowing that gesture wouldn't be misunderstood was sweet, sweet bliss.

The other half of the time I thought about Bell. That soft French purr in her low voice, the way she crossed a room with that certain look in her eyes. . . . The things I would have to tell her to fix what had been broken. I think I rehearsed them a thousand times, but none of my versions sounded good enough. It had to work. It had to be good enough.

But. . . there would never be good enough. Only choices.

I could send Beverly flowers to express my gratitude, but what the hell do you send Jean-Luc Picard? Everything he'd said, the time he'd taken to work me through it -- to think I'd been steadily pushing us apart, all this time, and he went to all that trouble for my sake. I couldn't think of a thing I could get for him, or do for him, to adequately thank him. But then, he already had everything he wanted, didn't he? And that got me wondering, did I still perhaps have that one picture of Deanna. . . .

I was getting punchy from the long lonely trip. I had to be, to think that way. She'd probably have killed me. He'd have to settle for my buying him a drink. Maybe I'd let him beat me at poker.

When the starbase appeared on the main viewer, I contacted control and plotted a course that would give me a scenic approach to my little ship hovering there in its framework, with a swarm of engineers doing EVA along her underbelly.

We would be doing a survey, looking for future Federation colonies in a new sector, and it would mean a few months of exploration. Plenty of time to woo ma belle in between reading surveys of M-class planets and making log entries.

I'd have to tell her about my mercy date -- I had the feeling she'd understand. I was only out with my best friend's surrogate daughter, after all.

Come to think of it -- she was the surrogate daughter of both of my best friends. And maybe I should give her something to show my appreciation for her cheering me up.

I knew just the thing. Toothbrushes.


End file.
